WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

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WHERE    THE 
BLUE  BEGINS 

BY 
CHRISTOPHER  MORLEY 


When  I  saw  that  rage  was  vain, 
And  to  sulk  would  nothing  gain, 
Turning  many  a  trick  and  wile 
I  began  to  soothe  and  smile. 

— WILLIAM  BLAKE 


GARDEN   CITY  NEW   YORK 

DOUBLED  AY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1923 


COPYRIGHT, 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &   COMPANY 

v> 
ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED,    INCLUDING    THAT    OF    TRANSLATION 

INTO  FOREIGN   LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE   SCANDINAVIAN 

PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES 

AT 
THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


TO 
FELIX  AND  TOTO 


5046^2 


"7  am  not  free  — 

And  it  may  be 
Life  is  too  tight  around  my  shins; 

For,  unlike  you, 

I  can't  break  through, 
A  truant  where  the  blue  begins. 

"Out  of  the  very  element 

Of  bondage,  that  here  holds  me  pent, 
I'll  make  my  furious  sonnet: 

I'll  turn  my  noose 

To  tightrope  use 
And  madly  dance  upon  it. 

"So  I  will  take 

My  leash,  and  make 
A  wilder  and  more  subtle  fleeing — 

And  I  shall  be 

More  escapading  and  more  free 
Than  you  have  ever  dreamed  of  being  I 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 


CHAPTER    ONE 

GISSING  lived  alone  (except  for  his  Jap 
anese  butler)  in  a  little  house  in  the 
country,  in  that  woodland  suburb  region 
called  the  Canine  Estates.  He  lived  comfortably 
and  thoughtfully,  as  bachelors  often  do.  He 
came  of  a  respectable  family,  who  had  always 
conducted  themselves  calmly  and  without  too 
much  argument.  They  had  bequeathed  him  just 
enough  income  to  live  on  cheerfully,  without  dis 
play  but  without  having  to  do  addition  and  sub 
traction  at  the  end  of  the  month  and  then  tear 
up  the  paper  lest  Fuji  (the  butler)  should 
see  it. 

It  was  strange,  since  Gissing  was  so  pleasantly 
situated  in  life,  that  he  got  into  these  curious 
adventures  that  I  have  to  relate.  I  do  not 
attempt  to  explain  it. 

He  had  no  responsibilities,  not  even  a  motor 
car,  for  his  tastes  were  surprisingly  simple.  If 

1 


I 


2          WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

he  happened  to  be  spending  an  evening  at  the 
country  club,  and  a  rainstorm  came  down,  he  did 
not  worry  about  getting  home.  He  would  sit  by 
the  fire  and  chuckle  to  see  the  married  members 
creep  away  one  by  one.  He  would  get  out  his  pipe 
and  sleep  that  night  at  the  club,  after  telephoning 
Fuji  not  to  sit  up  for  him.  When  he  felt  like 
it  he  used  to  read  in  bed,  and  even  smoke  in  bed. 
When  he  went  to  town  to  the  theatre,  he  would 
spend  the  night  at  a  hotel  to  avoid  the  fatigue 
of  the  long  ride  on  the  11:44  train.  He  chose 
a  different  hotel  each  time,  so  that  it  was  always 
an  Adventure.  He  had  a  great  deal  of  fun. 

But  having  fun  is  not  quite  the  same  as  being 
happy.  Even  an  income  of  1000  bones  a  year 
does  not  answer  all  questions.  That  charming 
little  house  among  the  groves  and  thickets  seemed 
to  him  surrounded  by  strange  whispers  and  quiet 
voices.  He  was  uneasy.  He  was  restless,  and 
did  not  know  why.  It  was  his  theory  that  dis 
cipline  must  be  maintained  in  the  household,  so 
he  did  not  tell  Fuji  his  feelings.  Even  when  he 
was  alone,  he  always  kept  up  a  certain  formality 
in  the  domestic  routine.  Fuji  would  lay  out  his 
dinner  jacket  on  the  bed:  he  dressed,  came  down 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS  3 

to  the  dining  room  with  quiet  dignity,  and  the 
evening  meal  was  served  by  candle-light.  As  long 
as  Fuji  was  at  work,  Gissing  sat  carefully  in  the 
armchair  by  the  hearth,  smoking  a  cigar  and  pre 
tending  to  read  the  paper.  But  as  soon  as  the 
butler  had  gone  upstairs,  Gissing  always  kicked 
off  his  dinner  suit  and  stiff  shirt,  and  lay  down 
on  the  hearth-rug.  But  he  did  not  sleep.  He 
would  watch  the  wings  of  flame  gilding  the  dark 
throat  of  the  chimney,  and  his  mind  seemed  drawn 
upward  on  that  rush  of  light,  up  into  the  puro 
chill  air  where  the  moon  was  riding  among  slug 
gish  thick  floes  of  cloud.  In  the  darkness  he 
heard  chiming  voices,  wheedling  and  tantalizing. 
One  night  he  was  walking  on  his  little  verandah. 
Between  rafts  of  silver-edged  clouds  were  channels 
of  ocean-blue  sky,  inconceivably  deep  and  trans 
parent.  The  air  was  serene,  with  a  faint  acid 
taste.  Suddenly  there  shrilled  a  soft,  sweet,  mel 
ancholy  whistle,  earnestly  repeated.  It  seemed 
to  come  from  the  little  pond  in  the  near-by  copses. 
It  struck  him  strangely.  It  might  be  anything, 
he  thought.  He  ran  furiously  through  the  field, 
and  to  the  brim  of  the  pond.  He  could  find 
nothing,  all  was  silent.  Then  the  whistlings  broke 


4  WHERE  THE  BLUE   BEGINS 

out  again,  all  round  him,  maddeningly.  This  kept 
on,  night  after  night.  The  parson,  whom  he  con 
sulted,  said  it  was  only  frogs;  but  Gissing  told 
the  constable  he  thought  God  had  something  to 
do  with  it. 

Then  willow  trees  and  poplars  showed  a  pallid 
bronze  sheen,  forsythias  were  as  yellow  as  scram 
bled  eggs,  maples  grew  knobby  with  red  buds. 
Among  the  fresh  bright  grass  came,  here  and 
there,  exhilarating  smells  of  last  year's  buried 
bones.  The  little  upward  slit  at  the  back  of 
Gissing's  nostrils  felt  prickly.  He  thought  that 
if  he  could  bury  it  deep  enough  in  cold  beef  broth 
it  would  be  comforting.  Several  times  he  went 
out  to  the  pantry  intending  to  try  the  experiment, 
but  every  time  Fuji  happened  to  be  around.  Fuji 
was  a  Japanese  pug,  and  rather  correct,  so  Gis 
sing  was  ashamed  to  do  what  he  wanted  to.  He 
pretended  he  had  come  out  to  see  that  the  ice- 
oox  pan  had  been  emptied  properly. 

"I  must  get  the  plumber  to  put  in  a  pukka 
drain-pipe  to  take  the  place  of  the  pan,"  Gissing 
said  to  Fuji ;  but  he  knew  that  he  had  no  intention 
of  doing  so.  The  ice-box  pan  was  his  private 
test  of  a  good  servant.  A  cook  who  forgot  to 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS  5 

empty  it  was  too  careless,  he  thought,  to  be  a 
real  success. 

But  certainly  there  was  some  curious  elixir  in 
the  air.  He  went  for  walks,  and  as  soon  as  he 
was  out  of  sight  of  the  houses  he  threw  down 
his  hat  and  stick  and  ran  wildly,  with  great 
exultation,  over  the  hills  and  fields.  "I  really 
ought  to  turn  all  this  energy  into  some  sort  of 
constructive  work,"  he  said  to  himself.  No  one 
else,  he  mused,  seemed  to  enjoy  life  as  keenly  and 
eagerly  as  he  did.  He  wondered,  too,  about  the 
other  sex.  Did  they  feel  these  violent  impulses 
to  run,  to  shout,  to  leap  and  caper  in  the  sun 
light  ?  But  he  was  a  little  startled,  on  one  of  his 
expeditions,  to  see  in  the  distance  the  curate 
rushing  hotly  through  the  underbrush,  his  clerical 
vestments  dishevelled,  his  tongue  hanging  out  with 
excitement. 

"I  must  go  to  church  more  often,"  said  Gissing. 

In  the  golden  light  and  pringling  air  he  felt 
excitable  and  high-strung.  His  tail  curled  up 
ward  until  it  ached.  Finally  he  asked  Mike 
Terrier,  who  lived  next  door,  what  was  wrong. 

"It's  spring,"  Mike  said. 

"Oh,  yes,   of   course,  jolly   old   spring!"   said 


6  WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

Gissing,  as  though  this  was  something  he  had 
known  all  along,  and  had  just  forgotten  for  the 
moment.  But  he  didn't  know.  This  was  his  first 
spring,  for  he  was  only  ten  months  old. 

Outwardly  he  was  the  brisk,  genial  figure  that 
the  suburb  knew  and  esteemed.  He  was  something 
of  a  mystery  among  his  neighbours  of  the  Canine 
Estates,  because  he  did  not  go  daily  to  business 
in  the  city,  as  most  of  them  did ;  nor  did  he  lead 
a  life  of  brilliant  amusement  like  the  Airedales, 
the  wealthy  people  whose  great  house  was  near  by. 
Mr.  Poodle,  the  conscientious  curate,  had  called 
several  times  but  was  not  able  to  learn  anything 
definite.  There  was  a  little  card-index  of  parish 
ioners,  which  it  was  Mr.  Poodle's  duty  to  fill  in 
with  details  of  each  person's  business,  charitable 
inclinations,  and  what  he  could  do  to  amuse  a 
Church  Sociable.  The  card  allotted  to  Gissing 
was  marked,  in  Mr.  Poodle's  neat  script,  Friendly, 
but  vague  as  to  definite  participation  in  Xian 
activities.  Has  not  communicated. 

But  in  himself,  Gissing  was  increasingly  dis 
turbed.  Even  his  seizures  of  joy,  which  came  as 
he  strolled  in  the  smooth  spring  air  and  sniffed 
the  wild,  vigorous  aroma  of  the  woodland  earth, 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS  7 

were  troublesome  because  he  did  not  know  why  he 
was  so  glad.  Every  morning  it  seemed  to  him 
that  life  was  about  to  exhibit  some  delicious  crisis 
in  which  the  meaning  and  excellence  of  all  things 
would  plainly  appear.  He  sang  in  the  bathtub. 
Daily  it  became  more  difficult  to  maintain  that 
decorum  which  Fuji  expected.  He  felt  that  his 
life  was  being  wasted.  He  wondered  what  ought 
to  be  done  about  it. 


CHAPTER    TWO 

IT  WAS  after  dinner,  an  April  evening,  and 
Gissing  slipped  away  from  the  house  for  a 
stroll.  He  was  afraid  to  stay  in,  because  he 
knew  that  if  he  did,  Fuji  would  ask  him  again  to 
fix  the  dishcloth  rack  in  the  kitchen.  Fuji  was 
very  short  in  stature,  and  could  not  reach  up  to 
the  place  where  the  rack  was  screwed  over  the 
sink.  Like  all  people  whose  minds  are  very  active, 
Gissing  hated  to  attend  to  little  details  like  this. 
It  was  a  weakness  in  his  character.  Fuji  had 
asked  him  six  "times  to  fix  the  rack,  but  Gissing 
always  pretended  to  forget  about  it.  To  appease 
his  methodical  butler  he  had  written  on  a  piece 
of  paper  Fix  Dishcloth  Rack  and  pinned  it  on  his 
dressing-table  pincushion;  but  he  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  the  memorandum. 

He  went  out  into  a  green  April  dusk.  Down 
by  the  pond  piped  those  repeated  treble  whis 
tlings  :  they  still  distressed  him  with  a  mysterious 

8 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS  9 

unriddled  summons,  but  Mike  Terrier  had  told 
him  that  the  secret  of  respectability  is  to  ignore 
whatever  you  don't  understand.  Careful  obser 
vation  of  this  maxim  had  somewhat  dulled  the 
cry  of  that  shrill  queer  music.  It  now  caused 
only  a  faint  pain  in  his  mind.  Still,  he  walked 
that  way  because  the  little  meadow  by  the  pond 
was  agreeably  soft  underfoot.  Also,  when  he 
walked  close  beside  the  water  the  voices  were 
silent.  That  is  worth  noting,  he  said  to  himself. 
If  you  go  directly  at  the  heart  of  a  mystery,  it 
ceases  to  be  a  mystery,  and  becomes  only  a  ques 
tion  of  drainage.  (Mr.  Poodle  had  told  him  that 
if  he  had  the  pond  and  swamp  drained,  the  frog- 
song  would  not  annoy  him.)  But  to-night,  when 
the  keen  chirruping  ceased,  there  was  still  another 
sound  that  did  not  cease — a  faint,  appealing  cry. 
It  caused  a  prickling  on  his  shoulder  blades,  it 
made  him  both  angry  and  tender.  He  pushed 
through  the  bushes.  In  a  little  hollow  were  three 
small  puppies,  whining  faintly.  They  were  cold 
and  draggled  with  mud.  Someone  had  left  them 
there,  evidently,  to  perish.  They  were  huddled 
close  together ;  their  eyes,  a  cloudy  unspeculative 
blue,  were  only  just  opened. 


10         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"This  is  gruesome,"  said  Gissing,  pretending 
to  be  shocked.  "Dear  me,  innocent  pledges  of 
sin,  I  dare  say.  Well,  there  is  only  one  thing 
to  do." 

He  picked  them  up  carefully  and  carried  them 
home. 

"Quick,  Fuji!"  he  said.  "Warm  some  milk, 
some  of  the  Grade  A,  and  put  a  little  brandy  in 
it.  I'll  get  the  spare-room  bed  ready." 

He  rushed  upstairs,  wrapped  the  puppies  in  a 
blanket,  and  turned  on  the  electric  heater  to  take 
the  chill  from  the  spare-room.  The  little  pads 
of  their  paws  were  ice-cold,  and  he  filled  the  hot 
water  bottle  and  held  it  carefully  to  their  twelve 
feet.  Their  pink  stomachs  throbbed,  and  at  first 
he  feared  they  were  dying.  "They  must  not  die !" 
he  said  fiercely.  "If  they  did,  it  would  be  a  matter 
for  the  police,  and  no  end  of  trouble." 

Fuji  came  up  with  the  milk,  and  looked  very 
grave  when  he  saw  the  muddy  footprints  on  the 
clean  sheet. 

"Now,  Fuji,"  said  Gissing,  "do  you  suppose 
they  can  lap,  or  will  we  have  to  pour  it  down?" 

In  spite  of  his  superior  manner,  Fuji  was  a 
good  fellow  in  an  emergency.  It  was  he  who 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         11 

suggested  the  fountain-pen  filler.  They  washed 
the  ink  out  of  it,  and  used  it  to  drip  the  hot 
brandy-and-milk  down  the  puppies'  throats. 
Their  noses,  which  had  been  icy,  suddenly  became 
very  hot  and  dry.  Gissing  feared  a  fever  and 
thought  their  temperatures  should  be  taken. 

"The  only  thermometer  we  have,"  he  said,  "is 
the  one  on  the  porch,  with  the  mercury  split  in 
two.  I  don't  suppose  that  would  do.  Have  you 
a  clinical  thermometer,  Fuji?" 

Fuji  felt  that  his  employer  was  making  too 
much  fuss  over  the  matter. 

"No,  sir,"  he  said  firmly.  "They  are  quite  all 
right.  A  good  sleep  will  revive  them.  They  will 
be  as  fit  as  possible  in  the  morning." 

Fuji  went  out  into  the  garden  to  brush  the 
mud  from  his  neat  white  jacket.  His  face  was 
inscrutable.  Gissing  sat  by  the  spare-room  bed 
until  he  was  sure  the  puppies  were  sleeping  cor 
rectly.  He  closed  the  door  so  that  Fuji  would 
not  hear  him  humming  a  lullaby.  Three  Blind 
Mice  was  the  only  nursery  song  he  could  re 
member,  and  he  sang  it  over  and  over  again. 

When  he  tiptoed  downstairs,  Fuji  had  gone  to 
bed.  Gissing  went  into  his  study,  lit  a  pipe,  and 


12         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

walked  up  and  down,  thinking.  By  and  bye  he 
wrote  two  letters.  One  was  to  a  bookseller  in  the 
city,  asking  him  to  send  (at  once)  one  copy  of 
Dr.  Holt's  book  on  the  Care  and  Feeding  of 
Children,  and  a  well-illustrated  edition  of  Mother 
Goose.  The  other  was  to  Mr.  Poodle,  asking  him 
to  fix  a  date  for  the  christening  of  Mr.  Gissing's 
three  small  nephews,  who  had  come  to  live  with 
him. 

"It  is  lucky  they  are  all  boys,"  said  Gissing. 
"I  would  know  nothing  about  bringing  up  girls." 

"I  suppose,"  he  added  after  a  while,  "that  I 
shall  have  to  raise  Fuji's  wages." 

Then  he  went  into  the  kitchen  and  fixed  the 
dishcloth  rack. 

Before  going  to  bed  that  night  he  took  his 
usual  walk  around  the  house.  The  sky  was 
freckled  with  stars.  It  was  generally  his  habit 
to  make  a  tour  of  his  property  toward  midnight, 
to  be  sure  everything  was  in  good  order.  He 
always  looked  into  the  ice-box,  and  admired  the 
cleanliness  of  Fuji's  arrangements.  The  milk 
bottles  were  properly  capped  with  their  round 
cardboard  tops ;  the  cheese  was  never  put  on  the 
same  rack  with  the  butter;  the  doors  of  the  ice- 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         13 

box  were  carefully  latcherl.  Such  observations, 
and  the  slow  twinkle  of  the  fire  in  the  range,  deep 
down  under  the  curfew  layer  of  coals,1  pleased 
him.  In  the  cellar  he  peeped  into  the  garbage 
can,  for  it  was  always  a  satisfaction  to  assure 
himself  that  Fuji  did  not  waste  anything  that 
could  be  used.  One  of  the  laundry  tub  taps  was 
dripping,  with  a  soft  measured  tinkle:  he  said  to 
himself  that  he  really  must  have  it  attended  to. 
All  these  domestic  matters  seemed  more  significant 
than  ever  when  he  thought  of  youthful  innocence 
sleeping  upstairs  in  the  spare-room  bed.  His  had 
been  a  selfish  life  hitherto,  he  feared.  These  pup 
pies  were  just  what  he  needed  to  take  him  out  of 
himself. 

Busy  with  these  thoughts,  he  did  not  notice  the 
ironical  whistling  coming  from  the  pond.  He 
tasted  the  night  air  with  cheerful  satisfaction. 
"At  any  rate,  to-morrow  will  be  a  fine  day,"  he 
said. 

The  next  day  it  rained.  But  Gissing  was  too 
busy  to  think  about  the  weather.  Every  hour 
or  so  during  the  night  he  had  gone  into  the  spare 
room  to  listen  attentively  to  the  breathing  of  the 


14         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

puppies,  to  pull  the  blanket  over  them,  and  feel 
their  noses.  It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were 
perspiring  a  little,  and  he  was  worried  lest  they 
catch  cold.  His  morning  sleep  (it  had  always 
been  his  comfortable  habit  to  lie  abed  a  trifle 
late)  was  interrupted  about  seven  o'clock  by  a 
lively  clamour  across  the  hall.  The  puppies  were 
awake,  perfectly  restored,  and  while  they  were 
too  young  to  make  their  wants  intelligible,  they 
plainly  expected  some  attention.  He  gave  them 
a  pair  of  old  slippers  to  play  with,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  his  own  toilet. 

As  he  was  bathing  them,  after  breakfast,  he 
tried  to  enlist  Fuji's  enthusiasm.  "Did  you  ever 
see  such  fat  rascals?"  he  said.  "I  wonder  if  we 
ought  to  trim  their  tails?  How  pink  their 
stomachs  are,  and  how  pink  and  delightful  be 
tween  their  toes !  You  hold  these  two  while  I  dry 
the  other.  No,  not  that  way!  Hold  them  so 
you  support  their  spines.  A  puppy's  back  is 
very  delicate:  you  can't  be  too  careful.  We'll 
have  to  do  things  in  a  rough-and-ready  way  until 
Dr.  Holt's  book  comes.  After  that  we  can  be 
scientific." 

Fuji  did  not   seem  very  keen.     Presently,  in 


WHERE  THE   BLUE  BEGINS         15 

spite  of  the  rain,  he  was  dispatched  to  the  village 
department  store  to  choose  three  small  cribs  and 
a  multitude  of  safety  pins.  "Plenty  of  safety 
pins  is  the  idea,"  said  Gissing.  "With  enough 
safety  pins  handy,  children  are  easy  to  manage." 

As  soon  as  the  puppies  were  bestowed  on  the 
porch,  in  the  sunshine,  for  their  morning  nap,  he 
telephoned  to  the  local  paperhanger. 

"I  want  you"  (he  said)  "to  come  up  as  soon  as 
you  can  with  some  nice  samples  of  nursery  wall 
paper.  A  lively  Mother  Goose  pattern  would 
do  very  well."  He  had  already  decided  to  change 
the  spare  room  into  a  nursery.  He  telephoned 
the  carpenter  to  make  a  gate  for  the  top  of  the 
stairs.  He  was  so  busy  that  he  did  not  even  have 
time  to  think  of  his  pipe,  or  the  morning  paper. 
At  last,  just  before  lunch,  he  found  a  breathing 
space.  He  sat  down  in  the  study  to  rest  his  legs, 
and  looked  for  the  Times.  It  was  not  in  its  usual 
place  on  his  reading  table.  At  that  moment  the 
puppies  woke  up,  and  he  ran  out  to  attend  them. 
He  would  have  been  distressed  if  he  had  known 
that  Fuji  had  the  paper  in  the  kitchen,  and  was 
studying  the  HELP  WANTED  columns. 

A  great  deal  of  interest  was  aroused  in  the 


16         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

neighbourhood  by  the  arrival  of  Gissing's  neph 
ews,  as  he  called  them.  Several  of  the  ladies,  who 
had  ignored  him  hitherto,  called,  in  his  absence, 
and  left  extra  cards.  This  implied  (he  supposed, 
though  he  was  not  closely  versed  in  such  niceties 
of  society)  that  there  was  a  Mrs.  Gissing,  and  he 
was  annoyed,  for  he  felt  certain  they  knew  he 
was  a  bachelor.  But  the  children  were  a  source 
of  nothing  but  pride  to  him.  They  grew  with 
astounding  rapidity,  ate  their  food  without  coax 
ing,  rarely  cried  at  night,  and  gave  him  much 
amusement  by  their  naive  ways.  He  was  too 
occupied  to  be  troubled  with  introspection.  In 
deed,  his  well-ordered  home  was  very  different 
from  before.  The  trim  lawn,  in  spite  of  his 
zealous  efforts,  was  constantly  littered  with  toys. 
In  sheer  mischief  the  youngsters  got  into  his 
wardrobe  and  chewed  off  the  tails  of  his  evening 
dress  coat.  But  he  felt  a  satisfying  dignity  and 
happiness  in  his  new  status  as  head  of  a  family. 
What  worried  him  most  was  the  fear  that  Fuji 
would  complain  of  this  sudden  addition  to  his 
duties.  The  butler's  face  was  rather  an  enigma, 
particularly  at  meal  times,  when  Gissing  sat  at 
the  dinner  table  surrounded  by  the  three  puppies 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         17 

in  their  high  chairs,  with  a  spindrift  of  milk  and 
prune-juice  spattering  generously  as  the  young 
sters  plied  their  spoons.  Fuji  had  arranged  a 
series  of  scuppers,  made  of  oilcloth,  underneath 
the  chairs ;  but  in  spite  of  this  the  dining-room 
rug,  after  a  meal,  looked  much  as  the  desert  place 
must  have  after  the  feeding  of  the  multitude. 
Fuji,  who  was  pensive,  recalled  the  five  loaves  and 
two  fishes  that  produced  twelve  baskets  of  frag 
ments.  The  vacuum  cleaner  got  clogged  by  a 
surfeit  of  crumbs. 

Gissing  saw  that  it  would  be  a  race  between 
heart  and  head.  If  Fuji's  heart  should  become 
entangled  (that  is,  if  the  innocent  charms  of  the 
children  should  engage  his  affections)  before  his 
reason  convinced  him  that  the  situation  was  now 
too  arduous,  there  was  some  hope.  He  tried  to 
ease  the  problem  also  by  mental  suggestion.  "It 
is  really  remarkable"  (he  said  to  Fuji)  "that 
children  should  give  one  so  little  trouble."  As 
he  made  this  remark,  he  was  speeding  hotly  to 
and  fro  between  the  bathroom  and  the  nursery, 
trying  to  get  one  tucked  in  bed  and  another  un 
dressed,  while  the  third  was  lashing  the  tub  into 
toapy  foam. 


18         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

Fuji  made  his  habitual  response,  "Very  good, 
sir."  But  one  fears  that  he  detected  some  in 
sincerity,  for  the  next  day,  which  was  Sunday,  he 
gave  notice.  This  generally  happens  on  a  Sun 
day,  because  the  papers  publish  more  Help 
Wanted  advertisements  then  than  on  any  other 
day. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  he  said.  "But  when  I  took 
this  place  there  was  nothing  said  about  three 
children."  ff 

This  was  unreasonable  of  Fuji.  It  is  very 
rare  to  have  everything  explained  beforehand. 
When  Adam  and  Eve  were  put  into  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  there  was  nothing  said  about  the  serpent. 

However,  Gissing  did  not  believe  in  entreating 
a  servant  to  stay.  He  offered  to  give  Fuji  a 
raise,  but  the  butler  was  still  determined  to  leave. 

"My  senses  are  very  delicate,"  he  said.  "I 
really  cannot  stand  the — well,  the  aroma  exhaled 
by  those  three  children  when  they  have  had  a 
warm  bath." 

"What  nonsense!"  cried  Gissing.  "The  smell 
of  wet,  healthy  puppies  ?  Nothing  is  more  agree 
able.  You  are  cold-blooded:  I  don't  believe  you 
are  fond  of  puppies.  Think  of  their  wobbly 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         19 

black  noses.  Consider  how  pink  is  the  little  cleft 
between  their  toes  and  the  main  cushion  of  their 
feet.  Their  ears  are  like  silk.  Inside  their 
upper  jaws  are  parallel  black  ridges,  most  re 
markable.  I  never  realized  before  how  beauti 
fully  and  carefully  we  are  made.  I  am  surprised 
that  you  should  be  so  indifferent  to  these  things." 
There  was  a  moisture  in  Fuji's  eyes,  but  he 
left  at  the  end  of  the  week. 


V 


CHAPTER    THREE 

A  SOLITARY  little  path  ran  across  the 
fields  not  far  from  the  house.  It  lay 
deep  among  tall  grasses  and  the  withered 
brittle  stalks  of  last  autumn's  goldenrod,  and 
here  Gissing  rambled  in  the  green  hush  of  twi 
light,  after  the  puppies  were  in  bed.  In  less 
responsible  days  he  would  have  lain  down  on  his 
back,  with  all  four  legs  upward,  and  cheerily 
shrugged  and  rolled  to  and  fro,  as  the  crisp 
ground-stubble  was  very  pleasing  to  the  spine. 
But  now  he  paced  soberly,  the  smoke  from  his 
pipe  eddying  just  above  the  top  of  the  grasses. 
He  had  much  to  meditate. 

The  dogwood  tree  by  the  house  was  now  in 
flower.  The  blossoms,  with  their  four  curved 
petals,  seemed  to  spin  like  tiny  white  propellers  in 
the  bright  air.  When  he  saw  them  fluttering 
Gissing  had  a  happy  sensation  of  movement.  The 
business  of  those  tremulous  petals  seemed  to  be 

20 


WHERE  THE   BLUE  BEGINS         21 

thrusting  his  whole  world  forward  and  forward, 
through  the  viewless  ocean  of  space.  He  felt 
as  though  he  were  on  a  ship — as,  indeed,  we  are. 
He  had  never  been  down  to  the  open  sea,  but  he 
had  imagined  it.  There,  he  thought,  there  must 
be  the  satisfaction  of  a  real  horizon. 

Horizons  had  been  a  great  disappointment  to 
him.  In  earlier  days  he  had  often  slipped  out  of 
the  house  not  long  after  sunrise,  and  had  marvelled 
at  the  blue  that  lies  upon  the  skyline.  Here, 
about  him,  were  the  clear  familiar  colours  of  the 
world  he  knew ;  but  yonder,  on  the  hills,  were 
trees  and  spaces  of  another  more  heavenly  tint. 
That  soft  blue  light,  if  he  could  reach  it,  must  be 
the  beginning  of  what  his  mind  required. 

He  envied  Mr.  Poodle,  whose  cottage  was  on 
that  very  hillslope  that  rose  so  imperceptibly  into 
sky.  One  morning  he  ran  and  ran,  in  the  lifting 
day,  but  always  the  blue  receded.  Hot  and  un 
buttoned,  he  came  by  the  curate's  house,  just  as 
the  latter  emerged  to  pick  up  the  morning  paper. 

"Where  does  the  blue  begin?"  Gissing  panted, 
trying  hard  to  keep  his  tongue  from  sliding  out 
so  wetly. 

The  curate  looked  a  trifle  disturbed.     He  feared 


22         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

that  something  unpleasant  had  happened,  and 
that  his  assistance  might  be  required  before 
breakfast. 

"It  is  going  to  be  a  warm  day,"  he  said 
politely,  and  stooped  for  the  newspaper,  as  a 
delicate  hint. 

"Where  does ?"  began  Gissing,  quivering; 

but  at  that  moment,  looking  round,  he  saw  that  it 
had  hoaxed  him  again.  Far  away,  on  his  own 
hill  the  other  side  of  the  village,  shone  the  evasive 
colour.  As  usual,  he  had  been  too  impetuous. 
He  had  not  watched  it  while  he  ran ;  it  had  circled 
round  behind  him.  He  resolved  to  be  more 
methodical. 

The  curate  gave  him  a  blank  to  fill  in,  relative 
to  baptizing  the  children,  and  was  relieved  to  see 
him  hasten  away. 

But  all  this  was  some  time  ago.  As  he  walked 
the  meadow  path,  Gissing  suddenly  realized  that 
lately  he  had  had  little  opportunity  for  pursuing 
blue  horizons.  Since  Fuji's  departure  every  mo 
ment,  from  dawn  to  dusk,  was  occupied.  In  three 
weeks  he  had  had  three  different  servants,  but 
none  of  them  would  stay.  The  place  was  too 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         23 

lonely,  they  said,  and  with  three  puppies  the  work 
was  too  hard.  The  washing,  particularly,  was  a 
horrid  problem.  Inexperienced  as  a  parent,  Gis- 
sing  was  probably  too  proud:  he  wanted  the 
children  always  to  look  clean  and  soigne.  The 
last  cook  had  advertised  herself  as  a  General 
Houseworker,  afraid  of  nothing;  but  as  soon  as 
she  saw  the  week's  wash  in  the  hamper  (including 
twenty-one  grimy  rompers),  she  telephoned  to 
the  station  for  a  taxi.  Gissing  wondered  why  it 
was  that  the  working  classes  were  not  willing  to 
do  one-half  as  much  as  he,  who  had  been  reared 
to  indolent,  ease.  Even  more,  he  was  irritated 
by  a  suspicion  of  the  ice-wagon  driver.  He  could 
not  prove  it,  but  he  had  an  idea  that  this  uncouth 
fellow  obtained  a  commission  from  the  Airedales 
and  Collies,  who  had  large  mansions  in  the  neigh 
bourhood,  for  luring  maids  from  the  smaller 
homes.  Of  course  Mrs.  Airedale  and  Mrs.  Collie 
could  afford  to  pay  any  wages  at  all.  So  now 
the  best  he  could  do  was  to  have  Mrs.  Spaniel,  the 
charwoman,  come  up  from  the  village  to  do  the 
washing  and  ironing,  two  days  a  week.  The  rest 
of  the  work  he  undertook  himself.  On  a  clear 
afternoon,  when  the  neighbours  were  not  looking, 


24         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

he  would  take  his  own  shirts  and  things  down  to 
the  pond — putting  them  neatly  in  the  bottom  of 
the  red  express-wagon,  with  the  puppies  sitting 
on  the  linen,  so  no  one  would  see.  While  the 
puppies  played  about  and  hunted  for  tadpoles,  he 
would  wash  his  shirts  himself. 

His  legs  ached  as  he  took  his  evening  stroll — 
keeping  within  earshot  of  the  house,  so  as  to  hear 
any  possible  outcry  from  the  nursery.  He  had 
been  on  his  feet  all  day.  But  he  reflected  that 
there  was  a  real  satisfaction  in  his  family  tasks, 
however  gruelling.  Now,  at  last  (he  said  to  him 
self),  I  am  really  a  citizen,  not  a  mere  dilettante. 
Of  course  it  is  arduous.  No  one  who  is  not  a 
parent  realizes,  for  example,  the  extraordinary 
amount  of  buttoning  and  unbuttoning  necessary 
in  rearing  children.  I  calculate  that  50,000  but- 
tonings  are  required  for  each  one  before  it  reaches 
the  age  of  even  rudimentary  independence.  With 
the  energy  so  expended  one  might  write  a  great 
novel  or  chisel  a  statue.  Never  mind :  these 
urchins  must  be  my  Works  of  Art.  If  one  were 
writing  a  novel,  he  could  not  delegate  to  a  hired 
servant  the  composition  of  laborious  chapters. 

So  he  took   his   responsibility   gravely.     This 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         25 

was  partly  due  to  the  christening  service,  per 
haps,  which  had  gone  off  very  charmingly.  It 
had  not  been  without  its  embarrassments.  None 
of  the  neighbouring  ladies  would  stand  as  god 
mother,  for  they  were  secretly  dubious  as  to  the 
children's  origin;  so  he  had  asked  good  Mrs. 
Spaniel  to  act  in  that  capacity.  She,  a  simple 
kindly  creature,  was  much  flattered,  though  cer 
tainly  she  can  have  understood  very  little  of  the 
symbolical  rite.  Gissing,  filling  out  the  form 
that  Mr.  Poodle  had  given  him,  had  put  down 
the  names  of  an  entirely  imaginary  brother  and 
sister-in-law  of  his,  "deceased,"  whom  he  asserted 
as  the  parents.  He  had  been  so  busy  with  prep 
arations  that  he  did  not  find  time,  before  the 
ceremony,  to  study  the  text  of  the  service ;  and 
when  he  and  Mrs.  Spaniel  stood  beneath  the  font 
with  an  armful  of  ribboned  infancy,  he  was 
frankly  startled  by  the  magnitude  of  the  promises 
exacted  from  him.  He  found  that,  on  behalf  of 
the  children,  he  must  "renounce  the  devil  and  all 
his  work,  the  vain  pomp  and  glory  of  the  world ;" 
that  he  must  pledge  himself  to  see  that  these  in 
fants  would  "crucify  the  old  man  and  utterly 
abolish  the  whole  body  of  sin."  It  was  rather 


26         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

doubtful  whether  they  would  do  so,  he  reflected, 
as  he  felt  them  squirming  in  his  arms  while  Mrs. 
Spaniel  was  busy  trying  to  keep  their  socks  on. 
When  the  curate  exhorted  him  "to  follow  the 
innocency"  of  these  little  ones,  it  was  disconcert 
ing  to  have  one  of  them  burst  into  a  piercing 
yammer,  and  wriggle  so  forcibly  that  it  slipped 
quite  out  of  its  little  embroidered  shift  and  flannel 
band.  But  the  actual  access  to  the  holy  basin 
was  more  seemly,  perhaps  due  to  the  children 
imagining  they  were  going  to  find  tadpoles  there. 
When  Mr.  Poodle  held  them  up  they  smiled  with 
a  vague  almost  bashful  simplicity;  and  Mrs. 
Spaniel  could  not  help  murmuring  "The  darl 
ings  !"  The  curate,  less  experienced  with  chil 
dren,  had  insisted  on  holding  all  three  at  once, 
and  Gissing  feared  lest  one  of  them  might  swarm 
over  the  surpliced  shoulder  and  fall  splash  into 
the  font.  But  though  they  panted  a  little  with 
excitement,  they  did  nothing  to  mar  the  solemn 
instant.  While  Mrs.  Spaniel  was  picking  up  the 
small  socks  with  which  the  floor  was  strewn,  Gis 
sing  was  deeply  moved  by  the  poetry  of  the 
ceremony.  He  felt  that  something  had  really 
been  accomplished  toward  "burying  the '  Old 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         27 

Adam."  And  if  Mrs.  Spaniel  ever  grew  dis 
heartened  at  the  wash-tubs,  he  was  careful  to  re 
mind  her  of  the  beautiful  phrase  about  the  mys 
tical,  washing  away  of  sin. 

They  had  been  christened  Groups,  Bunks,  and 
Yelpers,  three  traditional  names  in  his  family. 

Indeed,  he  was  reflecting  as  he  walked  in  the 
dusk,  Mrs.  Spaniel  was  now  his  sheet  anchor. 
Fortunately  she  showed  signs  of  becoming  extra 
ordinarily  attached  to  the  puppies.  On  the  two 
days  a  week  when  she  came  up  from  the  village, 
it  was  even  possible  for  him  to  get  a  little  relax 
ation — to  run  down  to  the  station  for  tobacco,  or 
to  lie  in  the  hammock  briefly  with  a  book.  Look 
ing  off  from  his  airy  porch,  he  could  see  the  same 
blue  distances  that  had  always  tempted  him,  but 
he  felt  too  passive  to  wonder  about  them.  He 
had  given  up  the  idea  of  trying  to  get  any  other 
servants.  If  it  had  been  possible,  he  would  have 
engaged  Mrs.  Spaniel  to  sleep  in  the  house  and  be 
there  permanently;  but  she  had  children  of  her 
own  down  in  the  shantytown  quarter  of  the 
village,  and  had  to  go  back  to  them  at  night. 
But  certainly  he  made  every  effort  to  keep  her 
contented.  It  was  a  long  steep  climb  up  from  the 


28         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

hollow,  so  he  allowed  her  to  come  in  a  taxi  and 
charge  it  to  his  account.  Then,  on  condition 
that  she  would  come  on  Saturdays  also,  to  help 
him  clean  up  for  Sunday,  he  allowed  her,  on  that 
day,  to  bring  her  own  children  too,  and  all  the 
puppies  played  riotously  together  around  the 
place.  But  this  he  presently  discontinued,  for 
the  clamour  became  so  deafening  that  the  neigh 
bours  complained.  Besides,  the  young  Spaniels, 
who  were  a  little  older,  got  Groups,  Bunks,  and 
Yelpers  into  noisy  and  careless  habits  of  speech. 

He  was  anxious  that  they  should  grow  up  re 
fined,  and  was  distressed  by  little  Shaggy  Spaniel 
having  brought  up  the  Comic  Section  of  a  Sunday 
paper.  With  childhood's  instinctive  taste  for 
primitive  effects,  the  puppies  fell  in  love  with  the 
coloured  cartoons,  and  badgered  him  continually 
for  "funny  papers." 

There  is  a  great  deal  more  to  think  about  in 
raising  children  (he  said  to  himself)  than  is  in 
timated  in  Dr.  Holt's  book  on  Care  and  Feeding. 
Even  in  matters  that  he  had  always  taken  for 
granted,  such  as  fairy  tales,  he  found  perplexity. 
After  supper — (he  now  joined  the  children  in 
their  evening  bread  and  milk,  for  after  cooking 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS          29 

them  a  hearty  lunch  of  meat  and  gravy  and 
potatoes  and  peas  and  the  endless  spinach  and 
carrots  that  the  doctorc  advise,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  prunes,  he  had  no  energy  to  prepare  a  special 
dinner  for  himself) — after  supper  it  was  his  habit 
to  read  to  them,  hoping  to  give  their  imaginations 
a  little  exercise  before  they  went  to  bed.  He  was 
startled  to  find  that  Grimm  and  Hans  Andersen, 
which  he  had  considered  as  authentic  classics  for 
childhood,  were  full  of  very  strong  stuff — morbid 
sentiment,  bloodshed,  horror,  and  all  manner  of 
painful  circumstance.  Reading  the  tales  aloud, 
he  edited  as  he  went  along ;  but  he  was  subj  ect  to 
that  curious  weakness  that  afflicts  some  people : 
reading  aloud  made  him  helplessly  sleepy:  after 
a  page  or  so  he  would  fall  into  a  doze,  from  which 
he  would  be  awakened  by  the  crash  of  a  lamp  or 
some  other  furniture.  The  children,  seized  with 
that  furious  hilarity  that  usually  begins  just 
about  bedtime,  would  race  madly  about  the  house 
until  some  breakage  or  a  burst  of  tears  woke  him 
from  his  trance.  He  would  thrash  them  all  and 
put  them  to  bed  howling.  When  they  were  asleep 
he  would  be  touched  with  tender  compassion,  and 
steal  in  to  tuck  them  up,  admiring  the  innocence 


30         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

of  each  unconscious  muzzle  on  its  pillow.  Some 
times,  in  a  crisis  of  his  problems,  he  thought  of 
writing  to  Dr.  Holt  for  advice ;  but  the  will-power 
was  lacking. 

It  is  really  astonishing  how  children  can  ex 
haust  one,  he  used  to  think.  Sometimes,  after  a 
long  day,  he  was  even  too  weary  to  correct  their 
grammar.  "You  lay  down!"  Groups  would  ad 
monish  Yelpers,  who  was  capering  in  his  crib 
while  Bunks  was  being  lashed  in  with  the  largest 
size  of  safety  pins.  And  Gissing,  doggedly  pag 
ing  from  one  to  another,  was  really  too  fatigued 
to  reprove  the  verb,  picked  up  from  Mrs.  Spaniel. 

Fairy  tales  proving  a  disappointment,  he  had 
great  hopes  of  encouraging  them  in  drawing.  He 
bought  innumerable  coloured  crayons  and  stacks 
of  scribbling  paper.  After  supper  they  would 
all  sit  down  around  the  dining-room  table  and  he 
drew  pictures  for  them.  Tongues  depending  with 
concentrated  excitement,  the  children  would  try 
to  copy  these  pictures  and  colour  them.  In 
spite  of  having  three  complete  sets  of  crayons,  a 
full  roster  of  colours  could  rarely  be  found  at 
drawing  time.  Bunks  had  the  violet  when  Groups 
wanted  it,  and  so  on.  But  still,  this  was  often 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         31 

the  happiest  hour  of  the  day.  Gissing  drew 
amazing  trains,  elephants,  ships,  and  rainbows, 
with  the  spectrum  of  colours  correctly  arranged 
and  blended.  The  children  specially  loved  his 
landscapes,  which  were  opulently  tinted  and  mag 
nificent  in  long  perspectives.  He  found  himself 
always  colouring  the  far  horizons  a  pale  and 
haunting  blue. 

-He  was  meditating  these  things  when  a  shrill 
mmer  recalled  him  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

IN  THIS  warm  summer  weather  Gissing  slept 
on  a  little  outdoor  balcony  that  opened  off 
the  nursery.  The  world,  rolling  in  her 
majestic  seaway,  heeled  her  gunwale  slowly  into 
the  trough  of  space.  Disked  upon  this  bulwark, 
the  sun  rose,  and  promptly  Gissing  woke.  The 
poplars  flittered  in  a  cool  stir.  Beyond  the  tad 
pole  pond,  through  a  notch  in  the  landscape,  he 
could  see  the  far  darkness  of  the  hills.  That 
fringe  of  woods  was  a  railing  that  kept  the  sky 
from  flooding  over  the  earth. 

The  level  sun,  warily  peering  over  the  edge  like 
a  cautious  marksman,  fired  golden  volleys  un 
erringly  at  him.  At  once  Gissing  was  aware  and 
watchful.  Brief  truce  was  over :  the  hopeless  war 
with  Time  began  anew. 

This  was  his  placid  hour.  Light,  so  early,  lies 
timidly  along  the  ground.  It  steals  gently  from 
ridge  to  ridge;  it  is  soft,  unsure.  That  blue 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         33 

dimness,  receding  from  bole  to  bole,  is  the  skirt 
of  Night's  garment,  trailing  off  toward  some 
other  star.  As  easily  as  it  slips  from  tree  to 
tree,  it  glides  from  earth  to  Orion. 

Light,  which  later  will  riot  and  revel  and  strike 
pitilessly  down,  still  is  tender  and  tentative.  It 
sweeps  in  rosy  scythe-strokes,  parallel  to  earth. 
It  gilds,  where  later  it  will  burn. 

Gissing  lay,  without  stirring.  The  springs  of 
the  old  couch  were  creaky,  and  the  slightest  sound 
might  arouse  the  children  within.  Now,  until 
they  woke,  was  his  peace.  Purposely  he  had  had 
the  sleeping  porch  built  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  house.  Making  the  sun  his  alarm  clock,  he 
prolonged  the  slug-a-bed  luxury.  He  had  pro 
cured  the  darkest  and  most  opaque  of  all  shades 
for  the  nursery  windows,  to  cage  as  long  as 
possible  in  that  room  Night  the  silencer.  At 
this  time  of  the  year,  the  song  of  the  mosquito 
was  his  dreaded  nightingale.  In  spite  of  fine- 
mesh  screens,  always  one  or  two  would  get  in. 
Mrs.  Spaniel,  he  feared,  left  the  kitchen  door  ajar 
during  the  day,  and  these  Borgias  of  the  insect 
world,  patiently  invasive,  seized  their  chance.  It 
was  a  rare  night  when  a  sudden  scream  did  not 


34         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

come  from  the  nursery  every  hour  or  so.  "Daddy, 
a  keeto,  a  keeto!"  was  the  anguish  from  one  of 
the  trio.  The  other  two  were  up  instantly,  erect 
and  yelping  in  their  cribs,  small  black  paws  on 
the  rail,  pink  stomachs  candidly  exposed  to  the 
winged  stiletto.  Lights  on,  and  the  room  must 
be  explored  for  the  lurking  foe.  Scratching 
themselves  vigorously,  the  fun  of  the  chase  as 
suaged  the  smart  of  those  red  welts.  Gissing, 
wise  by  now,  knew  that  after  a  foray  the  mos 
quito  always  retires  to  the  ceiling,  so  he  kept  a 
stepladder  in  the  room.  Mounted  on  this,  he 
would  pursue  the  enemy  with  a  towel,  while  the 
children  screamed  with  merriment.  Then  stom 
achs  must  be  anointed  with  more  citronella ;  sheets 
and  blankets  reassembled,  and  quiet  gradually 
restored.  Life,  as  parents  know,  can  be  sup 
ported  on  very  little  sleep. 

But  how  delicious  to  lie  there,  in  the  morning 
freshness,  to  hear  the  earth  stir  with  reviving 
gusto,  the  merriment  of  birds,  the  exuberant  clink 
of  milk-bottles  set  down  by  the  back-door,  the 
whole  complex  machinery  of  life  begin  anew ! 
Gissing  was  amazed  now,  looking  back  upon  his 
previous  existence,  to  see  himself  so  busy,  so 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         35 

active.  Few  people  are  really  lazy,  he  thought: 
what  we  call  laziness  is  merely  maladjustment. 
For  in  any  department  of  life  where  one  is  gen 
uinely  interested,  he  will  be  zealous  beyond  belief. 
Certainly  he  had  not  dreamed,  until  he  became 
(in  a  manner  of  speaking)  a  parent,  that  he  had 
in  him  such  capacity  for  detail. 

This  business  of  raising  a  family,  though — 
had  he  any  true  aptitude  for  it?  or  was  he  forc 
ing  himself  to  go  through  with  it?  Wasn't  he, 
moreover,  incurring  all  the  labours  of  parenthood 
without  any  of  its  proper  dignity  and  social 
esteem?  Mrs.  Chow  down  the  street,  for  instance, 
why  did  she  look  so  sniffingly  upon  him  when  she 
heard  the  children,  in  the  harmless  uproar  of  their 
play,  cry  him  aloud  as  Daddy?  Uncle,  he  had  in 
tended  they  should  call  him;  but  that  is,  for  be 
ginning  speech,  a  hard  saying,  embracing  both  a 
palatal  and  a  liquid.  Whereas  Da-da — the  sylla 
bles  come  almost  unconsciously  to  the  infant 
mouth.  So  he  had  encouraged  it,  and  even  felt 
an  irrational  pride  in  the  honourable  but  un 
earned  title. 

A  little  word,  Daddy,  but  one  of  the  most 
potent,  he  was  thinking.  More  than  a  word,  per- 


36         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

haps:  a  great  social  engine:  an  anchor  which, 
cast  carelessly  overboard,  sinks  deep  and  fast  into 
the  very  bottom.  The  vessel  rides  on  her  hawser, 
and  where  are  your  blue  horizons  then? 

But  come  now,  isn't  one  horizon  as  good  as 
another?  And  do  they  really  remain  blue  when 
you  reach  them? 

Unconsciously  he  stirred,  stretching  his  legs 
deeply  into  the  comfortable  nest  of  his  couch. 
The  springs  twanged.  Simultaneous  clamours ! 
The  puppies  were  awake. 

They  yelled  to  be  let  out  from  the  cribs.  This 
was  the  time  of  the  morning  frolic.  Gissing  had 
learned  that  there  is  only  one  way  to  deal  with 
the  almost  inexhaustible  energy  of  childhood. 
That  is,  not  to"  attempt  to  check  it,  but  to  en 
courage  and  draw  it  out.  To  start  the  day  with 
a  rush,  stimulating  every  possible  outlet  of  zeal; 
meanwhile  taking  things  as  calmly  and  quietly  as 
possible  himself,  sitting  often  to  take  the  weight 
off  his  legs,  and  allowing  the  youngsters  to  wear 
themselves  down.  This,  after  all,  is  Nature's  own 
way  with  man;  it  is  the  wise  parent's  tactic  with 
children.  Thus,  by  dusk,  the  puppies  will  have 
run  themselves  almost  into  a  stupor;  and  you,  if 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         37 

you  have  shrewdly  husbanded  your  strength,  may 
have  still  a  little  power  in  reserve  for  reading  and 
smoking. 

The  before-breakfast  game  was  conducted  on 
regular  routine.  Children  show  their  member 
ship  in  the  species  by  their  love  of  strict  habit. 

Gissing  let  them  yell  for  a  few  moments — as 
long  as  he  thought  the  neighbours  would  endure 
it — while  he  gradually  gathered  strength  and 
resolution,  shook  off  the  cowardice  of  bed.  Then 
he  strode  into  the  nursery.  As  soon  as  they  heard 
him  raising  the  shades  there  was  complete  silence. 
They  hastened  to  pull  the  blankets  over  them 
selves,  and  lay  tense,  faces  on  paws,  with  bright 
expectant  upward  eyes.  They  trembled  a  little 
with  impatience.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  re 
strain  himself  from  patting  the  sleek  heads,  which 
always  seemed  to  shine  with  extra  polish  after  a 
night's  rolling  to  and  fro  on  the  flattened  pillows. 
But  sternness  was  a  part  of  the  game  at  this 
moment.  He  solemnly  unlatched  and  lowered 
the  tall  sides  of  the  cribs. 

He  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  a 
gesture  of  command.  "Quiet  now,"  he  said. 
"Quiet,  until  I  tell  you!" 


38         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

Yelpers  could  not  help  a  small  whine  of  intense 
emotion,  which  slipped  out  unintended.  The  eyes 
of  Groups  and  Bunks  swivelled  angrily  toward 
their  unlucky  brother.  It  was  his  failing:  in 
crises  he  always  emitted  haphazard  sounds.  But 
this  time  Gissing,  with  lenient  forgiveness,  pre 
tended  not  to  have  heard. 

He  returned  to  the  balcony,  and  reentered  his 
couch,  where  he  lay  feigning  sleep.  In  the  nursery 
was  a  terrific  stillness. 

It  was  the  rule  of  the  game  that  they  should 
lie  thus,  in  absolute  quiet,  until  he  uttered  a  huge 
imitation  snore.  Once,  after  a  particularly  ex 
hausting  night,  he  had  postponed  the  snore  too 
long:  he  fell  asleep.  He  did  not  wake  for  an 
hour,  and  then  found  the  tragic  three  also 
sprawled  in  amazing  slumber.  But  their  pillows 
were  wet  with  tears.  He  never  succumbed  again, 
no  matter  how  deeply  tempted. 

He  snored.  There  were  three  sprawling  thumps, 
a  rush  of  feet,  and  a  tumbling  squeeze  through 
the  screen  door.  Then  they  were  on  the  couch 
and  upon  him,  with  panting  yelps  of  glee.  Their 
hot  tongues  rasped  busily  over  his  face.  This 
was  the  great  tickling  game.  Remembering  his 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         39 

theory  of  conserving  energy,  he  lay  passive  while 
they  rollicked  and  scrambled,  burrowing  in  the 
bedclothes,  quivering  imps  of  absurd  pleasure. 
All  that  was  necessary  was  to  give  an  occasional 
squirm,  to  tweak  their  ribs  now  and  then,  so  that 
they  believed  his  heart  was  in  the  sport.  Really 
he  got  quite  a  little  rest  while  they  were  scuffling. 
No  one  knew  exactly  what  was  the  imagined  pur 
pose  of  the  lark — whether  he  was  supposed  to  be 
trying  to  escape  from  them,  or  they  from  him. 
Like  all  the  best  games,  it  had  not  been  carefully 
thought  out. 

"Now,  children,"  said  Gissing  presently.  "Time 
to  get  dressed." 

It  was  amazing  how  fast  they  were  growing. 
Already  they  were  beginning  to  take  a  pride  in 
trying  to  dress  themselves.  While  Gissing  was 
in  the  bathroom,  enjoying  his  cold  tub  (and 
under  the  stimulus  of  that  icy  sluice  forming  ex 
cellent  resolutions  for  the  day)  the  children  were 
sitting  on  the  nursery  floor  eagerly  studying  the 
intricacies  of  their  gear.  By  the  time  he  returned 
they  would  have  half  their  garments  on  wrong; 
waist  and  trousers  front  side  to  rear ;  right  shoefc 
on  left  feet;  buttons  hopelessly  mismated  to  but 


40         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

tonholes ;  shoelacings  oddly  zigzagged.  It  was 
far  more  trouble  to  permit  their  ambitious  bun 
gling,  which  must  be  undone  and  painstakingly  re 
assembled,  than  to  have  clad  them  all  himself, 
swiftly  revolving  and  garmenting  them  like  dolls. 
But  in  these  early  hours  of  the  day,  patience  still 
is  robust.  It  was  his  pedagogy  to  encourage  their 
innocent  initiatives,  so  long  as  endurance  might 
permit. 

Best  of  all,  he  enjoyed  watching  them  clean 
their  teeth.  It  was  delicious  to  see  them,  tiptoe 
on  their  hind  legs  at  the  basin,  to  which  their 
noses  just  reached;  mouths  gaping  wide  as  they 
scrubbed  with  very  small  toothbrushes.  They 
were  so  elated  by  squeezing  out  the  toothpaste 
from  the  tube  that  he  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse 
them  this  privilege,  though  it  was  wasteful.  For 
they  always  squeezed  out  more  than  necessary,  and 
after  a  moment's  brushing  their  mouths  became 
choked  and  clotted  with  the  pungent  foam.  Much 
of  this  they  swallowed,  for  he  had  not  been  able 
to  teach  them  to  rinse  and  gargle.  Their  only 
idea  regarding  any  fluid  in  the  mouth  was  to 
swallow  it ;  so  they  coughed  and  strangled  and 
barked.  Gissing  had  a  theory  that  this  tooth- 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         41 

paste  foam  must  be  an  appetizer,  for  he  found 
that  the  more  of  it  they  swallowed,  the  better  they 
ate  their  breakfast.) 

After  breakfast  he  hurried  them  out  into  the 
garden,  before  the  day  became  too  hot.  As  he 
put  a  new  lot  of  prunes  to  soak  in  cold  water,  he 
could  not  help  reflecting  how  different  the  kitchen 
and  pantry  looked  from  the  time  of  Fuji.  The 
ice-box  pan  seemed  to  be  continually  brimming 
over.  Somehow — due,  he  feared,  to  a  laxity  on 
Mrs.  Spaniel's  part — ants  had  got  in.  He  was 
always  finding  them  inside  the  ice-box,  and 
wondered  where  they  came  from.  He  was 
amazed  to  find  how  negligent  he  was  growing 
about  pots  and  pans :  he  began  cooking  a  new 
mess  of  oatmeal  in  the  double  boiler  without 
bothering  to  scrape  out  the  too  adhesive  remnant 
of  the  previous  porridge.  He  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  children  are  tougher  and  more 
enduring  than  Dr.  Holt  will  admit;  and  that  a 
little  carelessness  in  matters  of  hygiene  and  ster 
ilization  does  not  necessarily  mean  instant  death./ 

Truly  his  once  dainty  menage  was  deteriorat 
ing.  He  had  put  away  his  fine  china,  put  away 
the  linen  napery,  and  laid  the  table  with  oil- 


42         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

cloth.  He  had  even  improved  upon  Fuji's  inven 
tion  of  scuppers  by  a  little  trough  which  ran  all 
round  the  rim  of  the  table,  to  catch  any  possible 
spillage.  He  was  horrified  to  observe  how  in 
evitably  callers  came  at  the  worst  possible  mo 
ment.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chow,  for  instance,  drew 
up  one  afternoon  in  their  spick-and-span  coupe, 
with  their  intolerably  spotless  only  child  sitting 
self-consciously  beside  them.  Groups,  Bunks,  and 
Yelpers  were  just  then  filling  the  garden  with 
horrid  clamour.  They  had  been  quarrelling,  and 
one  had  pushed  the  other  two  down  the  back  steps. 
Gissing,  who  had  attempted  to  find  a  quiet  mo 
ment  to  scald  the  ants  out  of  the  ice-box,  had 
just  rushed  forth  and  boxed  them  all.  As  he  stood 
there,  angry  and  waving  a  steaming  dishclout, 
the  Chows  appeared.  The  puppies  at  once  set 
upon  little  Sandy  Chow,  and  had  thoroughly 
mauled  his  starched  sailor  suit  in  the  driveway 
before  two  minutes  were  past.  Gissing  could  not 
help  laughing,  for  he  suspected  that  there  had 
been  a  touch  of  malice  in  the  Chows  coming  just 
at  that  time. 

He  had  given  up  his  flower  garden,  too.     It 
was    all   he   could   do   to    shove   the   lawn-mower 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         43 

around,  in  the  dusk,  after  the  puppies  wtere  in 
bed.  Formerly  he  had  found  the  purr  of  the 
twirling  blades  a  soothing  stimulus  to  thought; 
but  nowadays  he  could  not  even  think  consecu 
tively.  Perhaps,  he  thought,  the  residence  of 
the  mind  is  in  the  legs,  not  in  the  head ;  for  when 
your  legs  are  thoroughly  weary  you  can't  seem 
to  think. 

So  he  had  decided  that  he  simply  must  have 
more  help  in  the  cooking  and  housework.  He  had 
instructed  Mrs.  Spaniel  to  send  the  washing  to 
the  steam-laundry,  and  spend  her  three  days  in  the 
kitchen  instead.  A  huge  bundle  had  come  back 
from  the  laundry,  and  he  had  paid  the  driver 
$15.98.  With  dismay  he  sorted  the  clean,  neatly 
folded  garments.  Here  was  the  worthy  Mrs. 
Spaniel's  list,  painstakingly  written  out  in  her 
straggling  script: — 

MR.  GISHING  FAMILY  WOSH 


8  towls 

6  pymjarm  Mr  Gishing 
12  rompers 
3  blowses 


44         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

6  cribb  sheats 

1  Mr.  Gishing  sheat 
4  wastes 

3  wosh  clothes 

2  onion  sutes  Mr  Gishing 
6  smal  onion  sutes 

4  pillo  slipes 

3  sherts 

18  hankerchifs  smal 

6  hankerchifs  large 

8  colers 

3  overhauls 

10  bibbs 

2  table  clothes  (coco  stane) 

1  table  clothe  (prun  juce  and  eg) 

After  contemplating  this  list,  Gissing  went  to 
his  desk  and  began  to  study  his  accounts.  A 
resolve  was  forming  in  his  mind. 


CHAPTER    FIVE 

THE  summer  evenings  sounded  a  very  dif 
ferent  music  from  that  thin  wheedling  of 
April.  It  was  now  a  soft  steady  vibra 
tion,  the  incessant  drone  and  throb  of  locust  and 
cricket,  and  sometimes  the  sudden  rasp,  dry  and 
hard,  of  katydids.  Gissing,  in  spite  of  his 
weariness,  was' all  fidgets.  He  would  walk  round 
and  round  the  house  in  the  dark,  unable  to  settle 
down  to  anything;  tired,  but  incapable  of  rest. 
What  is  this  uneasiness  in  the  mind,  he  asked 
himself?  The  great  sonorous  drumming  of  the 
summer  night  was  like  the  bruit  of  Time  passing 
steadily  by.  Even  in  the  soft  eddy  of  the  leaves, 
lifted  on  a  drowsy  creeping  air,  was  a  sound  of 
discontent,  of  troublesome  questioning.  Through 
the  trees  he  could  see  the  lighted  oblongs  of 
neighbours'  windows,  or  hear  stridulent  jazz 
records.  Why  were  all  others  so  cheerfully  ab 
sorbed  in  the  minutiae  of  their  lives,  and  he  so 

45 


46         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

painfully  ill  at  ease?     Sometimes,  under  the  warm 
clear   darkness,    the    noises    of   field    and    earth 
swelled  to  a  kind  of  soft  thunder:  his  quickened 
ears  heard  a  thousand  small  outcries  contributing 
to  the  awful  energy  of  the  world — faint  chimings 
and  whistlings  in  the  grass,  and  endless  flu 
rustle,    and    whirr.     His    own    body,    on    *Ji-*- 
hair     and     nails     grew     daily     like     vege*     .^'O 
startled    and    appalled    him.     Consciousness  ->- 
self,    that    miserable    ecstasy,    was    heavy  "upT  j 
him.  \ 

He  envied  the  children,  who  lay  upstairs 
sprawled  under  their  mosquito  nettings.  Im 
mersed  in  living,  how  happily  unaware  of  being 
alive !  He  saw,  with  tenderness,  how  naively  they 
looked  to  him  as  the  answer  and  solution  of  their 
mimic  problems.  But  where  could  he  find  some 
one  to  be  to  him  what  he  was  to  them?  The 
truth  apparently  was  that  in  his  inward  mind  he 
was  desperately  lonely.  Reading  the  poets  by 
fits  and  starts,  he  suddenly  realized  that  in  their 
divine  pages  moved  something  of  this  loneliness, 
this  exquisite  unhappiness.  But  these  great 
hearts  had  had  the  consolation  of  setting  down 
their  moods  in  beautiful  words>  words  that  lived 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         47 

and  spoke.  His  own  strange  fever  burned  inex 
pressibly  inside  him.  Was  he  the  only  one  who 
felt  the  challenge  offered  by  the  maddening  fer 
tility  and  foison  of  the  hot  sun-dazzled  earth? 
Life,  he  realized,  was  too  amazing  to  be  frittered 
01  'n  this  aimless  sickness  of  heart.  There  were 
1  iW  and  wonders  to  be  grasped,  if  he  could 

'vtifctrow  off  this  wistful  vague  desire.     He  felt 

clumsy  strummer  seated  at  a  dark  shining 

6  a-na  piano,  which  he  knows  is  capable  of  every 

glory  of  rolling  music,  yet  he  can  only  elicit  a  few 

haphazard  chords. 

He  had  his  moments  of  arrogance,  too.  Ah, 
he  was  very  young!  This  miracle  of  blue  un 
blemished  sky  that  had  baffled  all  others  since 
life  began — he,  he  would  unriddle  it !  He  was 
inclined  to  sneer  at  his  friends  who  took  these 
things  for  granted,  and  did  not  perceive  the  in 
famous  insolubility  of  the  whole  scheme.  Re 
membering  the  promises  made  at  the  christening, 
he  took  the  children  to  church;  but  alas,  care 
fully  analyzing  his  mind,  he  admitted  that  his 
attention  had  been  chiefly  occupied  with  keeping 
them  orderly,  and  he  had  gone  through  the  service 
almost  automatically.  Only  in  singing  hymns 


48         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

did  he  experience  a  tingle  of  exalted  feeling.  But 
Mr.  Poodle  was  proud  of  his  well-trained  choir, 
and  Gissing  had  a  feeling  that  the  congregation 
was  not  supposed  to  do  more  than  murmur  the 
verses,  for  fear  of  spoiling  the  effect.  In  his 
favourite  hymns  he  had  a  tendency  to  forget 
himself  and  let  go :  his  vigorous  tenor  rang  lustily. 
Then  he  realized  that  the  backs  of  people's  heads 
looked  surprised.  The  children  could  not  be  kept 
quiet  unless  they  stood  up  on  the  pews.  Mr. 
Poodle  preached  rather  a  long  sermon,  and 
Yelpers,  toward  twelve-thirty,  remarked  in  a  clear 
tone  of  interested  inquiry,  "What  time  does  God 
have  dinner?" 

Gissing  had  a  painful  feeling  that  he  and  Mr. 
Poodle  did  not  thoroughly  understand  each  other. 
The  curate,  who  was  kindness  itself,  called  one 
evening,  and  they  had  a  friendly  chat.  Gissing 
was  pleased  to  find  that  Mr.  Poodle  enjoyed  a 
cigar,  and  after  some  hesitation  ventured  to  sug 
gest  that  he  still  had  something  in  the  cellar. 
Mr.  Poodle  said  that  he  didn't  care  for  anything, 
but  his  host  could  not  help  hearing  the  curate's 
tail  quite  unconsciously  thumping  on  the  chair 
cushions.  So  he  excused  himself  and  brought  up 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         49 

one  of  his  few  remaining  bottles  of  White  Horse. 
Mr.  Poodle  crossed  his  legs  and  they  chatted 
about  golf,  politics,  the  income  tax,  and  some  of 
the  recent  books;  but  when  Gissing  turned  the 
talk  on  religion,  Mr.  Poodle  became  diffident. 
Gissing,  warmed  and  cheered  by  the  vital  Scotch, 
was  perhaps  too  direct. 

"What  ought  I  to  do  to  'crucify  the  old  man'?" 
he  said. 

Mr.  Poodle  was  rather  embarrassed. 

"You  must  mortify  the  desires  of  the  flesh,"  he 
replied.  "You  must  dig  up  the  old  bone  of  sin 
that  is  buried  in  all  our  hearts." 

There  were  many  more  questions  Gissing 
wanted  to  ask  about  this,  but  Mr.  Poodle  said  he 
really  must  be  going,  as  he  had  a  call  to  pay  on 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chow. 

Gissing  walked  down  the  path  with  him,  and 
the  curate  did  indeed  set  off  toward  the  Chows'. 
But  Gissing  wondered,  for  a  little  later  he  heard 
a  cheerful  canticle  upraised  in  the  open  fields. 

He  himself  was  far  from  gay.  He  longed  to 
tear  out  this  malady  from  his  breast.  Poor 
dreamer,  he  did  not  know  that  to  do  so  is  to  tear 
out  God  Himself. 


50         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"Mrs.  Spaniel,"  he  said  when  the  laundress  next 
came  up  from  the  village,  "you  are  a  widow,  aren't 
you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said.  "Poor  Spaniel  was  killed 
by  a  truck,  two  years  ago  April."  Her  face  was 
puzzled,  but  beneath  her  apron  Gissing  could  see 
her  tail  wagging. 

"Don't  misunderstand  me,"  he  said  quickly. 
"I've 'got  to  go  away  on  business.  I  want  you 
to  bring  your  children  and  move  into  this  house 
while  I'm  gone.  I'll  make  arrangements  at  the 
bank  about  paying  all  the  bills.  You  can  give 
up  your  outside  washing  and  devote  yourself  en 
tirely  to  looking  after  this  place." 

Mrs.  Spaniel  was  so  much  surprised  that  she 
could  not  speak.  In  her  amazement  a  bright 
bubble  dripped  from  the  end  of  her  curly  tongue. 
Hastily  she  caught  it  in  her  apron,  and  apolo 
gized. 

"How  long  will  you  be  away,  sir?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.     It  may  be  quite  a  long  time." 

"But  all  your  beautiful  things,  furniture  and 
everything,"  said  Mrs.  Spaniel.  "I'm  afraid  my 
children  are  a  bit  rough.  They're  not  used  to 
living  in  a  house  like  this " 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         51 

"Well,"  said  Gissing,  "you  must  do  the  best 
you  can.  There  are  some  things  more  important 
than  furniture.  It  will  be  good  for  your  children 
to  get  accustomed  to  refined  surroundings,  and 
it'll  be  good  for  my  nephews  to  have  someone  to 
play  with.  Besides,  I  don't  want  them  to  grow 
up  spoiled  mollycoddles.  I  think  I've  been  fuss 
ing  over  them  too  much.  If  they  have  good  stuff 
in  them,  a  little  roughening  won't  do  any  perma 
nent  harm." 

"Dear  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Spaniel,  "what  will  the 
neighbours  think?" 

"They  won't,"  said  Gissing.  "I  don't  doubt 
they'll  talk,  but  they  won't  think.  Thinking  is 
very  rare.  I've  got  to  do  some  myself,  that's  one 
reason  why  I'm  going.  You  know,  Mrs.  Spaniel, 
God  is  a  horizon,  not  someone  sitting  on  a  throne." f 

Mrs.  Spaniel  didn't  understand  this — in  fact, 
she  didn't  seem  to  hear  it.  Her  mind  was  full  of 
the  idea  that  she  would  simply  have  to  have  a 
new  dress,  preferably  black  silk,  for  Sundays. 
Gissing,  very  sagacious,  had  already  foreseen  this 
point. 

"Let's  not  have  any  argument,"  he  continued. 
"I  have  planned  everything.  Here  is  some  money 


52         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

for  immediate  needs.  I'll  speak  to  them  at  the 
bank,  and  they  will  give  you  a  weekly  allowance. 
I  leave  you  here  as  caretaker.  Later  on  I'll  send 
you  an  address  and  you  can  write  me  how  things 
are  going." 

Poor  Mrs.  Spaniel  was  bewildered.  She  came 
of  very  decent  people,  but  since  Spaniel  took  to 
drink,  and  then  left  her  with  a  family  to  support, 
she  had  sunk  in  the  world.  She  was  wondering 
now  how  she  could  face  it  out  with  Mrs.  Chow 
and  Mrs.  Fox-Terrier  and  the  other  neighbours. 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  cried,  "I  don't  know  what  to 
say,  sir.  Why,  my  boys  are  so  disreputable- 
looking,  they  haven't  even  a  collar  between  them.** 

"Get  them  collars  and  anything  else  they  need," 
said  Gissing  kindly.  "Don't  worry,  Mrs.  Spaniel, 
it  will  be  a  fine  thing  for  you.  There  will  be  a 
little  gossip,  I  dare  say,  but  we'll  have  to  chance 
that.  Now  you  had  better  go  down  to  the  village 
and  make  your  arrangements.  I'm  leaving  to 
night." 

Late  that  evening,  after  seeing  Mrs.  Spaniel 
and  her  brood  safely  installed,  Gissing  walked  to 
the  station  with  his  suitcase.  He  felt  a  pang  as 
he  lifted  the  mosquito  nettings  and  kissed  the 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         53 

cool  moist  noses  of  the  sleeping  trio.  But  he 
comforted  himself  by  thinking  that  this  was  no 
merely  vulgar  desertion.  If  he  was  to  raise  the 
family,  he  must  earn  some  money.  His  modest 
income  would  not  suffice  for  this  sudden  increase 
in  expenses.  Besides,  he  had  never  known  what 
freedom  meant  until  it  was  curtailed.  For  the 
past  three  months  he  had  lived  in  ceaseless  at 
tendance;  had  even  slept  with  one  ear  open  for 
the  children's  cries.  Now  he  owed  it  to  himself 
to  make  one  great  strike  for  peace.  Wealth,  he 
could  see,  was  the  answer.  With  money,  every 
thing  was  attainable:  books,  leisure  for  study, 
travel,  prestige — in  short,  command  over  the 
physical  details  of  life.  He  would  go  in  for  Big 
Business.  Already  he  thrilled  with  a  sense  of 
power  and  prosperity. 

The  little  house  stood  silent  in  the  darkness  as 
he  went  down  the  path.  The  night  was  netted 
with  the  weaving  sparkle  of  fireflies.  He  stood 
for  a  moment,  looking.  Suddenly  there  came  a 
frightened  cry  from  the  nursery. 

"Daddy,  a  keeto,  a  keeto !" 

He  nearly  turned  to  run  back,  but  checked 
himself.  No,  Mrs.  Spaniel  was  now  in  charge. 


/ 

54         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

It  was  up  to  her.  Besides,  he  had  only  just 
enough  time  to  catch  the  last  train  to  the  city. 

But  he  sat  on  the  cinder-speckled  plush  of  the 
smoker  in  a  mood  that  was  hardly  revelry.  "By 
Jove,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  got  away  just  in 
time.  Another  month  and  I  couldn't  have  done 
it." 

It  was  midnight  when  he  saw  the  lights  of  town^ 
panelled  in  gold  against  a  peacock  sky.  Acres 
and  acres  of  blue  darkness  lay  close-pressing 
upon  the  gaudy  grids  of  light.  Here  one  might 
really  look  at  this  great  miracle  of  shadow  and 
see  its  texture.  The  dulcet  air  drifted  lazily  in 
deep,  silent  crosstown  streets.  "Ah,"  he  said, 
"here  is  where  the  blue  begins." 


CHAPTER    SIX 

"For  students  of  the  troubled  heart 
Cities  are  perfect  works  of  art/' 

THERE  is  a  city  so  tall  that  even  the 
sky  above  her  seems  to  have  lifted  in  a 
cautious  remove,  inconceivably  far. 
There  is  a  city  so  proud,  so  mad,  so  beautiful 
and  young,  that  even  heaven  has  retreated,  lest 
her  placid  purity  be  too  nearly  tempted  by  that 
brave  tragic  spell.  In  the  city  which  is  maddest 
of  all,  Gissing  had  come  to  search  for  sanity.  In 
the  city  so  strangely  beautiful  that  she  has  made 
even  poets  silent,  he  had  come  to  find  a  voice.  ID 
the  city  of  glorious  ostent  and  vanity,  he  hao. 
come  to  look  for  humility  and  peace. 

All  cities  are  mad :  but  the  madness  is  gallant. 
All  cities  are  beautiful :  but  the  beauty  is  grim. 
Who  shall  tell  me  the  truth  about  this  one? 
Tragic?  Even  so,  because  wherever  ambitions, 
vanities,  and  follies  are  multiplied  by  millionfold 

55 


56         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

contact,  calamity  is  there.  Noble  and  beautiful? 
Aye,  for  even  folly  may  have  the  majesty  of  mag 
nitude.  Hasty,  cruel,  shallow?  Agreed,  but 
where  in  this  terrene  orb  will  you  find  it  other 
wise?  I  know  all  that  can  be  said  against  her; 
and  yet  in  her  great  library  of  streets,  vast  and 
various  as  Shakespeare,  is  beauty  enough  for  a 
lifetime.  O  poets,  why  have  you  been  so  faint? 
Because  she  seems  cynical  and  crass,  she  cries 
with  trumpet-call  to  the  mind  of  the  dreamer ;  be 
cause  she  is  riant  and  mad,  she  speaks  to  the 
grave  sanity  of  the  poet. 

So,  in  a  mood  perhaps  too  consciously  lofty, 
Gissing  was  meditating.  It  was  rather  impudent 
of  him  to  accuse  the  city  of  being  mad,  for  he 
himself,  in  his  glee  over  freedom  regained,  was 
not  conspicuously  sane.  He  scoured  the  town  in 
high  spirits,  peering  into  shop-windows,  riding  on 
top  of  busses,  going  to  the  Zoo,  taking  the  rickety 
old  steamer  to  the  Statue  of  Liberty,  drinking 
afternoon  tea  at  the  Ritz,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  The  first  three  nights  in  town  he  slept  in 
one  of  the  little  traffic-towers  that  perch  on  stilts 
up  above  Fifth  Avenue.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it 
was  that  one  near  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral.  He 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         57 

had  ridden  up  the  Avenue  in  a  taxi,  intending  to 
go  to  the  Plaza  (just  for  a  bit  of  splurge  after 
his  domestic  confinement).  As  the  cab  went  by, 
he  saw  the  traffic-tower,  dark  and  empty,  and 
thought  what  a  pleasant  place  to  sleep.  So  he 
asked  the  driver  to  let  him  out  at  the  Cathedral, 
and  after  being  sure  that  he  was  not  observed, 
walked  back  to  the  little  turret,  climbed  up  the 
ladder,  and  made  himself  at  home.  He  liked  it 
so  well  that  he  returned  there  the  two  following 
nights ;  but  he  didn't  sleep  much,  for  he  could 
not  resist  the  fun  of  startling  night-hawk  taxis 
by  suddenly  flashing  the  red,  green,  and  yellow 
lights  at  them,  and  seeing  them  stop  in  bewilder 
ment.  But  after  three  nights  he  thought  it  best 
to  leave.  It  would  have  been  awkward  if  the 
police  had  discovered  him. 

It  was  time  to  settle  down  and  begin  work. 
He  had  an  uncle  who  was  head  of  an  important 
business  far  down-town;  but  Gissing,  with  the 
quixotry  of  youth,  was  determined  to  make  his 
own  start  in  the  great  world  of  commerce.  He 
found  a  room  on  the  top  floor  of  a  quiet  brown- 
stone  house  in  the  West  Seventies.  It  was  not 
large,  and  he  had  to  go  down  a  flight  for  his 


58         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

bath;  the  gas  burner  over  the  bed  whistled;  the 
dust  was  rather  startling  after  the  clean  country ; 
but  it  was  cheap,  and  his  sense  of  adventure  more 
than  compensated.  Mrs.  Purp,  the  landlady, 
pleased  him  greatly.  She  was  very  maternal,  and 
urged  him  not  to  bolt  his  meals  in  armchair 
lunches.  She  put  an  ashtray  in  his  room. 

Gissing  sent  Mrs.  Spaniel  a  postcard  with  a 
picture  of  the  Pennsylvania  Station.  On  it  he 
wrote  Arrived  safely.  Hard  at  work.  Love 
to  the  children.  Then  he  went  to  look  for  a 
job. 

His  ideas  about  business  were  very  vague.  All 
he  knew  was  that  he  wished  to  be  very  wealthy  and 
influential  as  soon  as  possible.  He  could  have 
had  much  sound  advice  from  his  uncle,  who  was 
a  member  of  the  Union  Kennel  and  quite  a  prom 
inent  dog-about-town.  But  Gissing  had  the 
secretive  pride  of  inexperience.  Moreover,  he  did 
not  quite  know  what  to  say  about  his  establish 
ment  in  the  country.  That  houseful  of  children 
would  need  some  explaining. 

Those  were  days  of  brilliant  heat ;  clear,  golden, 
dry.  The  society  columns  in  the  papers  assured 
him  that  everyone  was  out  of  town;  but  the 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS          59 

Avenue  seemed  plentifully  crowded  with  beautiful, 
superb  creatures.  Far  down  the  gentle  slopes  of 
that  glimmering  roadway  he  could  see  the  rolling 
stream  of  limousines,  dazzles  of  sunlight  caught 
on  their  polished  flanks.  A  faint  blue  haze  of 
gasoline  fumes  hung  low  in  the  bright  warm  air. 
This  is  the  street  where  even  the  most  passive  are 
pricked  by  the  strange  lure  of  carnal  dominion. 
Nothing  less  than  a  job  on  the  Avenue  itself 
would  suit  his  mood,  he  felt. 

Fortune  and  audacity  united  (as  they  always 
do)  to  concede  his  desire.  He  was  in  the  beauti 
ful  department  store  of  Beagle  and  Company, 
one  of  the  most  splendid  of  its  kind,  looking  at 
some  sand-coloured  spats.  In  an  aisle  near  by  he 
heard  a  commotion — nothing  vulgar,  but  still  an 
evident  stir,  with  repressed  yelps  and  a  genteel, 
horrified  bustle.  He  hastened  to  the  spot,  and 
through  the  crowd  saw  someone  lying  on  the  floor. 
An  extremely  beautiful  salesdamsel,  charmingly 
clad  in  black  crepe  de  chien,  was  supporting  the 
victim's  head,  vainly  fanning  him.  Wealthy 
dowagers  were  whining  in  distress.  Then  an 
ambulance  clanged  up  to  a  side  door,  and  a 
stretcher  was  brought  in. 


60         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"What  is  it?"  said  Gissing  to  a  female  at  the 
silk-stocking  counter. 

"One  of  the  floorwalkers — died  of  heat  prostra 
tion,"  she  said,  looking  very  much  upset. 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  Gissing.  "You  never  know 
what  will  happen  next,  do  you?"  He  walked  away, 
shaking  his  head. 

He  asked  the  elevator  attendant  to  direct  him 
to  the  offices  of  the  firm.  On  the  seventh  floor, 
down  a  quiet  corridor  behind  the  bedroom  suites, 
a  rosewood  fence  barred  his  way.  A  secretary 
faced  him  inquiringly. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Beagle." 

"Mr.  Beagle  senior  or  Mr.  Beagle  junior?" 

Youth  cleaves  to  youth,  said  Gissing  to  himself. 
"Mr.  Beagle  junior,"  he  stated  firmly. 

"Have  you  an  appointment?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

She  took  his  oard,  disappeared,  and  returned. 
"This  way,  please,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Beagle  senior  must  be  very  old  indeed,  he 
thought;' for  junior  was  distinctly  grizzled.  In 
fact  (so  rapidly  does  the  mind  run),  Mr.  Beagle 
senior  must  be  near  the  age  of  retirement.  Very 
likely  (he  said  to  himself)  that  will  soon  occur; 


WHERE  THE   BLUE  BEGINS         61 

there  will  be  a  general  stepping-up  among 
members  of  the  firm,  and  that  will  be  my 
chance.  I  wonder  how  much  they  pay  a  junior 
partner  ? 

He  almost  uttered  this  question,  as  Mr.  Beagle 
junior  looked  at  him  so  inquiringly.  But  he 
caught  himself  in  time. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  intruding,"  said  Gis- 
sing,  "but  I  am  the  new  floorwalker." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Mr.  Beagle  junior, 
66  but  we  do  not  need  a  new  floorwalker." 

"I  beg  your  pardon  again,"  said  Gissing,  "but 
you  are  not  au  courant  with  the  affairs  of  the 
store.  One  has  just  died,  right  by  the  silk-stock 
ing  counter.  Very  bad  for  business." 

At  this  moment  the  telephone  rang,  and  Mr. 
Beagle  seized  it.  He  listened,  sharply  examining 
his  caller  meanwhile. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  as  he  put  down  the 
receiver.  "Well,  sir,  have  you  had  any  expe 
rience?" 

"Not  exactly  of  that  sort,"  said  Gissing;  "but 
I  think  I  understand  the  requirements.  The  tone 
of  the  store " 

"I  will  ask  you  to  be  here  at  four-thirty  this 


62         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

afternoon,"  said  Mr.  Beagle.  "We  have  a  par 
ticular  routine  in  regard  to  candidates  for  that 
position.  You  will  readily  perceive  that  it  is  a 
post  of  some  importance.  The  floorwalker  is  our 
point  of  social  contact  with  patrons " 

Gissing  negligently  dusted  his  shoes  with  a 
handkerchief. 

"Pray  do  not  apologize,"  he  said  kindly.  "I 
am  willing  to  congratulate  with  you  on  your  good 
fortune.  It  was  mere  hazard  that  I  was  in  the 
store.  To-day,  of  course,  business  will  be  poor. 
But  to-morrow,  I  think  you  will  find " 

"At  four-thirty,"  said  Mr.  Beagle,  a  little 
puzzled. 

That  day  Gissing  went  without  lunch.  First 
he  explored  the  whole  building  from  top  to 
bottom,  until  he  knew  the  location  of  every  de 
partment,  and  had  the  store  directory  firmly 
memorized.  With  almost  proprietory  tenderness 
he  studied  the  shining  goods  and  trinkets;  noted 
approvingly  the  clerks  who  seemed  to  him  specially 
prompt  and  obliging  to  customers;  scowled  a 
little  at  any  sign  of  boredom  or  inattention.  He 
heard  the  soft  sigh  of  the  pneumatic  tubes  as  they 
received  money  and  blew  it  to  some  distant  coffer : 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         63 

this  money,  he  thought,  was  already  partly  his. 
That  square-cut  creature  whom  he  presently  dis 
cerned  following  him  was  undoubtedly  the  store 
detective:  he  smiled  to  think  what  a  pleasant 
anecdote  this  would  be  when  he  was  admitted  to 
junior  partnership.  Then  he  went,  finally,  to 
the  special  Masculine  Shop  on  the  fifth  floor, 
where  he  bought  a  silk  hat,  a  cutaway  coat  and 
waistcoat,  and  trousers  of  pearly  stripe.  He  did 
not  forget  patent  leather  shoes,  nor  white  spats. 
He  refused  the  little  white  linen  margins  which 
the  clerk  wished  to  affix  to  the  V  of  his  waistcoat. 
That,  he  felt,  was  the  ultra  touch  which  would 
/•poil  all.  The  just  less  than  perfection,  how 
perfect  it  is! 

It  was  getting  late.  He  hurried  to  Penn 
Station  where  he  hired  one  of  those  little  dressing 
booths,  and  put  on  his  regalia.  His  tweeds,  in  a 
neat  package,  he  checked  at  the  parcel  counter. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  store  for  the  important 
interview. 

He  had  expected  a  formal  talk  with  the  two 
Messrs.  Beagle,  perhaps  touching  on  such  matters 
as  duties,  hours,  salary,  and  so  on.  To  his  sur 
prise  he  was  ushered  by  the  secretary  into  a 


64         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

charming  Louis  XVI  salon  farther  down  the 
private  corridor.  There  were  several  ladies:  one 
was  pouring  tea.  Mr.  Beagle  junior  came  for 
ward.  The  vice-president  (such  was  Mr.  Beagle 
junior's  rank,  Gissing  had  learned  by  the  sign 
on  his  door)  still  wore  his  business  garb  of  the 
morning.  Gissing  immediately  felt  himself  to 
have  the  advantage.  But  what  a  pleasant  idea, 
he  thought,  for  the  members  of  the  firm  to  have 
tea  together  every  afternoon.  He  handed  his 
hat,  gloves,  and  stick  to  the  secretary. 

"Very  kind  of  you  to  come,"  said  Mr.  Beagle. 
"Let  me  present  you  to  my  wife." 

Mrs.  Beagle,  at  the  tea-urn,  received  him  gra 
ciously. 

"Cream  or  lemon?"  she  said.     "Two  lumps?" 

This  is  really  delightful,  Gissing  thought. 
Only  on  Fifth  Avenue  could  this  kind  of  thing 
happen.  He  looked  down  upon  the  hostess  from 
his  superior  height,  and  smiled  charmingly. 

"Do  you  permit  three?"  he  said.  "A  little 
weakness  of  mine."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  hated 
tea  so  sweet;  but  he  felt  it  was  strategic  to  fix 
himself  in  Mrs.  Beagle's  mind  as  a  polished  ec 
centric. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         65 

"You  must  have  a  meringue,"  she  said.  "Ah, 
Mrs.  Pomeranian  has  them.  Mrs.  Pomeranian, 
let  me  present  Mr.  Gissing." 

Mrs.  Pomeranian,  small  and  plump  and  tightly 
corseted,  offered  the  meringues,  while  Mrs. 
Beagle  pressed  upon  him  a  plate  with  a  small 
doily,  embroidered  with  the  arms  of  the  store,  and 
its  motto  je  maintiendrai — referring,  no  doubt,  to 
its  prices.  Mr.  Beagle  then  introduced  him  to 
several  more  ladies  in  rapid  succession.  Gissing 
passed  along  the  line,  bowing  slightly  but  with 
courteous  interest  to  each.  To  each  one  he  raised 
his  eyebrows  and  permitted  himself  a  small  sig 
nificant  smile,  as  though  to  convey  that  this  was 
a  moment  he  had  long  been  anticipating.  How 
different,  he  thought,  was  this  life  of  enigmatic 
gaiety  from  the  suburban  drudgery  of  recent 
months.  If  only  Mrs.  Spaniel  could  see  him  now ! 
He  was  about  to  utilize  a  brief  pause  by  sipping 
his  tea,  when  a  white-headed  patriarch  suddenly 
appeared  beside  him. 

"Mr.  Gissing,"  said  the  vice-president,  "this 
is  my  father,  Mr.  Beagle  senior." 

Gissing,  by  quick  work,  shuffled  the  teacup 
into  his  left  paw,  and  the  meringue  plate  into  the 


66         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

crook  of  his  elbow,  so  he  was  ready  for  the  old 
gentleman's  salutation.  Mr.  Beagle  senior  was 
indeed  very  old :  his  white  hair  hung  over  his  eyesr 
he  spoke  with  growling  severity.  Gissing's  man 
ner  to  the  old  merchant  was  one  of  respectful 
reassurance :  he  attempted  to  make  an  impression 
that  would  console :  to  impart — of  course  without 
saying  so — the  thought  that  though  the  head  of 
the  firm  could  not  last  much  longer,  yet  he  would 
leave  his  great  traffic  in  capable  care. 

"Where  will  I  find  an  aluminum  cooking  pot?" 
growled  the  elder  Beagle  unexpectedly. 

"In  the  Bargain  Basement,"  said  Gissing 
promptly. 

"He'll  do!"  cried  the  president. 

To  his  surprise,  ,on  looking  round,  Gissing  saw 
that  all  the  ladies  had  vanished.  Beagle  junior 
was  grinning  at  him. 

"You  have  the  job,  Mr.  Gissing,"  he  said. 
"You  will  pardon  the  harmless  masquerade — we 
always  try  out  a  floorwalker  in  that  way.  My 
father  thinks  that  if  he  can  handle  a  teacup  and 
a  meringue  while  being  introduced  to  ladies,  he 
can  manage  anything  on  the  main  aisle  downstairs. 
Mrs.  Pomeranian,  our  millinery  buyer,  said  she 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         67 

had  never  seen  it  better  done,  and  she  mixes  with 
some  of  the  swellest  people  in  Paris." 

"Nine  to  six,  with  half  an  hour  off  for  lunch," 
said  the  senior  partner,  and  left  the  room. 

Gissing  calmly  swallowed  his  tea,  and  ate  the 
meringue.  He  would  have  enjoyed  another,  but 
the  capable  secretary  had  already  removed  them. 
He  poured  himself  a  second  cup  of  tea.  Mr. 
Beagle  junior  showed  signs  of  eagerness  to  leave, 
but  Gissing  detained  him. 

"One  moment,"  he  said  suavely.  "There  is  a 
little  matter  that  we  have  not  discussed.  The 
question  of  salary." 

Mr.  Beagle  looked  thoughtfully  out  of  the 
window. 

"Thirty  dollars  a  week,"  he  said. 

After  all,  Gissing  thought,  it  will  only  take 
four  weeks  to  pay  for  what  I  have  spent  on 
clothes. 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 

THERE  was  some  dramatic  nerve  in  Gis- 
sing's  nature  that  responded  eloquently 
to  the  floorwalking  job.  Never,  in  the 
history  of  Beagle  and  Company,  had  there  been 
a  floorwalker  who  threw  so  much  passion  and 
zeal  into  his  task.  The  very  hang  of  his  coat- 
tails,  even  tjie  erect  carriage  of  his  back,  the 
rubbery  way  in  which  his  feet  trod  the  aisles, 
showed  his  sense  of  dignity  and  glamour.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  great  tradition  which  enriched  and 
upheld  him.  Mr.  Beagle  senior  used  to  stand  on 
the  little  balcony  at  the  rear  of  the  main  floor, 
transfixed  with  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Gissing 
move  among  the  crowded  passages.  Alert,  watch 
ful,  urbane,  with  just  the  ideal  blend  of  courtesy 
and  condescension,  he  raised  floorwalking  to  a 
social  art.  Female  customers  asked  him  the  way 
to  departments  they  knew  perfectly  well,  for  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  him  direct  them.  Business 

68 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         69 

began  to  improve  before  he  had  been  there  a 
week. 

And  how  he  enjoyed  himself!  The  perfection 
of  his  bearing  on  the  floor  was  no  careful  pose: 
it  was  due  to  the  brimming  overplus  of  his  hap 
piness.  Happiness  is  surely  the  best  teacher  of 
good  manners:  only  the  unhappy  are  churlish  in 
deportment.  He  was  young,  remember ;  and  this 
was  his  first  job.  His  precocious  experience  as 
a  paterfamilias  had  added  to  his  mien  just  that 
suggestion  of  unconscious  gravity  which  is  so 
appealing  to  ladies.  He  looked  (tfyey  thought) 
as  though  he  had  been  touched — but  Oh  so 
lightly  ! — by  poetic  sorrow  or  strange  experience : 
to  ask  him  the  way  to  the  notion  counter  was  as 
much  of  an  adventure  as  to  meet  a  reigning  actor 
at  a  tea.  The  faint  cloud  of  melancholy  that 
shadowed  his  brow  may  have  been  only  due  to 
the  fact  that  his  new  boots  were  pinching  pain 
fully  ;  but  they  did  not  know  that. 

So,  quite  unconsciously,  he  began  to  "establish" 
himself  in  his  role,  just  as  an  actor  does.  At 
first  he  felt  his  way  tentatively  and  with  tact. 
Every  store  has  its  own  tone  and  atmosphere: 
in  a  day  or  so  he  divined  the  characteristic  cachet 


70         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

of  the  Beagle  establishment.  He  saw  what  kind 
of  customers  were  typical,  and  what  sort  of  con 
duct  they  expected.  And  the  secret  of  conquest 
being  always  to  give  people  a  little  more  than  they 
expect,  he  pursued  that  course.  Since  they  ex 
pected  in  a  floorwalker  the  mechanical  and  servile 
gentility  of  a  hired  puppet,  he  exhibited  the  easy, 
offhand  simplicity  of  a  fellow  club-member.  With 
perfect  naturalness  he  went  out  of  his  way  to 
assist  in  their  shopping  concerns:  gave  advice 
in  the  selection  of  dress  materials,  acted  as  arbiter 
in  the  matching  of  frocks  and  stockings.  His 
taste  being  faultless,  it  often  happened  that  the 
things  he  recommended  were  not  the  most  expen 
sive  :  this  again  endeared  him  to  customers.  When 
sales  slips  were  brought  to  him  by  ladies  who 
wished  to  make  an  exchange,  he  affixed  his  O.  K. 
with  a  magnificent  flourish,  and  with  such  evident 
pleasure,  that  patrons  felt  genuine  elation,  and 
plunged  into  the  tumult  with  new  enthusiasm.  It 
was  not  long  before  there  were  always  people 
waiting  for  his  counsel;  and  husbands  would  ap 
pear  at  the  store  to  convey  (a  little  irritably) 
some  such  message  as :  "Mrs.  Sealyham  says, 
please  choose  her  a  scarf  that  will  go  nicely  with 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         71 

that  brown  moire  dress  of  hers.  She  says  you 
will  remember  the  dress." — This  popularity  be 
came  even  a  bit  perplexing,  as  for  instance  when 
old  Mrs.  Dachshund,  the  store's  biggest  Charge 
Account,  insisted  on  his  leaving  his  beat  at  a 
very  busy  time,  to  go  up  to  the  tenth  floor  to 
tell  her  which  piano  he  thought  had  the  richer 
tone. 

Of  course  all  this  was  very  entertaining,  and 
an  admirable  opportunity  for  studying  his  fellow- 
creatures  ;  but  it  did  not  go  very  deep  into  his 
mind.  He  lived  for  some  time  in  a  confused 
glamour  and  glitter;  surrounded  by  the  fascinat 
ing  specious  life  of  the  store,  but  drifting  merely 
superficially  upon  it.  The  great  place,  with  its 
columns  of  artificial  marble  and  white  censers  of 
upward-shining  electricity,  glimmered  like  a  birch 
forest  by  moonlight.  Silver  and  jewels  and  silks 
and  slippers  flashed  all  about  him.  It  was  a 
marvellous  education,  for  he  soon  learned  to 
estimate  these  things  at  their  proper  value ;  which 
is  low,  for  they  have  little  to  do  with  life  itself. 
His  work  was  tiring  in  the  extreme — merely  hav 
ing  to  remain  upright  on  his  hind  legs  for  such 
long  hours  was  an  ordeal — but  it  did  not  pene- 


72         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

trate  to  the  secret  observant  self  of  which  he  was 
always  aware.  This  was  advantageous.  If  you 
have  no  intellect,  or  only  just  enough  to  get  along 
with,  it  does  not  much  matter  what  you  do.  But 
if  you  really  have  a  mind — by  which  is  meant  that 
rare  and  curious  power  of  reason,  of  imagination, 
and  of  emotion ;  very  different  from  a  mere  fertil 
ity  of  conversation  and  intelligent  curiosity — it 
is  better  not  to  weary  and  wear  it  out  over  trifles. 
So,  when  he  left  the  store  in  the  evening,  no 
matter  how  his  legs  ached,  his  head  was  clear 
and  untarnished.  He  did  not  hurry  away  at 
closing  time.  Places  where  people  work  are  par 
ticularly  fascinating  after  the  bustle  is  over.  He 
loved  to  linger  in  the  long  aisles,  to  see  the  tumbled 
counters  being  swiftly  brought  to  order,  to  hear 
the  pungent  cynicisms  of  the  weary  shopgirls. 
To  these,  by  the  way,  he  was  a  bit  of  a  mystery. 
The  punctilio  of  his  manner,  the  extreme  court 
liness  of  his  remarks,  embarrassed  them  a  little. 
Behind  his  back  they  spoke  of  him  as  "The  Duke" 
and  admired  him  hugely ;  little  Miss  Whippet,  at 
the  stocking  counter,  said  that  he  was  an  English 
noble  of  long  pedigree,  who  had  been  unjustly 
deprived  of  his  estates. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS          73 

Down  in  the  basement  of  this  palatial  store  was 
a  little  dressing  room  and  lavatory  for  the  floor 
walkers,  where  they  doffed  their  formal  raimen', 
and  resumed  street  attire.  His  colleagues  grum 
bled  and  hastened  to  depart,  but  Gissing  made 
himself  entirely  comfortable.  In  his  locker  he 
kept  a  baby's  bathtub,  which  he  leisurely  filled 
with  hot  water  at  one  of  the  basins.  Then  he 
sat  serenely  and  bathed  his  feet;  although  it  was 
against  the  rules  he  often  managed  to  smoke  a 
pipe  while  doing  so.  Then  he  hung  up  his  store 
clothes  neatly,  and  went  off  refreshed  into  the 
summer  evening. 

A  warm  rosy  light  floods  the  city  at  that  hour. 
At  the  foot  of  every  crosstown  street  is  a  bonfire 
of  sunset.  What  a  mood  of  secret  smiling  beset 
him  as  he  viewed  the  great  territory  of  his  enjoy 
ment.  "The  freedom  of  the  city" — a  phrase  he 
had  somewhere  heard — echoed  in  his  mind.  The 
freedom  of  the  city!  A  magnificent  saying. 
Electric  signs,  first  burning  wanly  in  the  pink 
air,  then  brightened  and  grew  strong.  "Not 
light,  but  rather  darkness  visible,"  in  that  magic 
hour  that  just  holds  the  balance  between  paling 
day  and  the  spendthrift  jewellery  of  evening.  Or, 


74         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

if  it  rained,  to  sit  blithely  on  the  roof  of  a  bus, 
revelling  in  the  gust  and  whipping  of  the  shower. 
Why  had  no  one  told  him  of  the  glory  of  the 
city?  She  was  pride,  she  was  exultation,  she  was 
madness.  She  was  what  he  had  obscurely  craved. 
In  every  line  of  her  gallant  profile  he  saw  con 
quest,  triumph,  victory !  Empty  conquest,  futile 
triumph,  doomed  victory — but  that  was  the 
essence  of  the  drama.  In  thunderclaps  of  dumb 
ecstasy  he  saw  her  whole  gigantic  fabric,  leaning 
and  clamouring  upward  with  terrible  yearning. 
Burnt  with  pitiless  sunlight,  drenched  with  purple 
explosions  of  summer  storm,  he  saw  her  cleansed 
and  pure.  Where  were  her  recreant  poets  that 
they  had  never  made  these  things  plain? 

And  then,  after  the  senseless  day,  after  its 
happy  but  meaningless  triviality,  the  throng  and 
mixed  perfumery  and  silly  courteous  gestures,  his 
blessed  solitude!  Oh  solitude,  that  noble  peace 
of  the  mind !  He  loved  the  throng  and  multitude 
of  the  day :  he  loved  people :  but  sometimes  he  sus 
pected  that  he  loved  them  as  God  does — at  a 
judicious  distance.  From  his  rather  haphazard 
religious  training,  strange  words  came  back  to 
him.  "For  God  so  loved  the  world  .  .  ."  So 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         75 

loved  the  world  that — that  what?  That  He  sent 
someone  else  .  .  .  Some  day  he  must  think 
this  out.  But  you  can't  think  things  out.  They 
think  themselves,  suddenly,  amazingly.  The  city 
itself  is  God,  he  cried.  Was  not  God's  ultimate 
promise  something  about  a  city — The  City  of 
God?  Well,  but  that  was  only  symbolic  lan 
guage.  The  city — of  course  that  was  only  a 
symbol  for  the  race — for  all  his  kind.  The  entire 
species,  the  whole  aspiration  and  passion  and 
struggle,  that  was  God. 

On  the  ferries,  at  night,  after  supper,  was  his 
favourite  place  for  meditation.  Some  undeniable 
instinct  drew  him  ever  and  again  out  of  the  deep 
and  shut  ravines  of  stone,  to  places  where  he  could 
feed  on  distance.  That  is  one  of  the  subtleties  of 
this  straight  and  narrow  city,  that  though  her 
ways  are  cliffed  in,  they  are  a  long  thoroughfare 
for  the  eye:  there  is  always  a  far  perspective. 
But  best  of  all  to  go  down  to  her  environing 
water,  where  spaces  are  wide:  the  openness  that 
keeps  her  sound  and  free.  Ships  had  words  for 
him :  they  had  crossed  many  horizons :  fragments 
of  that  broken  blue  still  shone  on  their  cutting 
bows.  Ferries,  the  most  poetical  things  in  the 


76         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

city,  were  nearly  empty  at  night :  he  stood  by  the 
rail,  saw  the  black  outline  of  the  town  slide  by, 
saw  the  lower  sky  gilded  with  her  merriment,  and 
was  busy  thinking. 

Now  about  a  God  (he  said  to  himself) — instinct 
tells  me  that  there  is  one,  for  when  I  think  about 
Him  I  find  that  I  unconsciously  wag  my  tail  a 
little.  But  I  must  not  reason  on  that  basis, 
which  is  too  puppyish.  I  like  to  think  that  there 
is,  somewhere  in  this  universe,  an  inscrutable  Be 
ing  of  infinite  wisdom,  harmony,  and  charity,  by 
Whom  all  my  desires  and  needs  would  be  under 
stood  ;  in  association  with  Whom  I  would  find 
peace,  satisfaction,  a  lightness  of  heart  that  ex 
ceed  my  present  understanding.  Such  a  Being 
is  to  me  quite  inconceivable;  yet  I  feel  that  if  I 
met  Him,  I  would  instantly  understand.  I  do 
not  mean  that  I  would  understand  Him:  but  I 
would  understand  my  relationship  to  Him,  which 
would  be  perfect.  Nor  do  I  mean  that  it  would 
be  always  happy;  merely  that  it  would  transcend 
anything  in  the  way  of  social  significance  that  I 
now  experience.  But  I  must  not  conclude  that 
there  is  such  a  God,  merely  because  it  would  be 
so  pleasant  if  there  were. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         77 

Then  (he  continued)  is  it  necessary  to  conceive 
that  this  deity  is  super-canine  in  essence?  What 
I  am  getting  at  is  this:  in  everyone  I  have  ever 
known — Fuji,  Mr.  Poodle,  Mrs.  Spaniel,  those 
maddening  delightful  puppies,  Mrs.  Purp,  Mr. 
Beagle,  even  Mrs.  Chow  and  Mrs.  Sealyham  and 
little  Miss  Whippet — I  have  always  been  aware 
that  there  was  some  mysterious  point  of  union  at 
which  our  minds  could  converge  and  entirely 
understand  one  another.  No  matter  what  our 
difference  of  breed,  of  training,  of  experience  and 
education,  provided  we  could  meet  and  exchange 
ideas  honestly  there  would  be  some  satisfying 
point  of  mental  fusion  where  we  would  feel  our 
solidarity  in  the  common  mystery  of  life.  /  People 
complain  that  wars  are  caused  by  and  fought  over 
trivial  things.  Why,  of  course !  For  it  is  only  in 
trivial  matters  that  people  differ:  in  the  deep 
realities  they  must  necessarily  be  at  one.  /  Now  I 
have  a  suspicion  that  in  this  secret  sense  of  unity 
God  may  lurk.  Is  that  what  we  mean  by  God,  the 
sum  total  of  all  these  instinctive  understandings? 
But  what  is  the  origin  of  this  sense  of  kinship? 
Is  it  not  the  realization  of  our  common  subjection 
to  laws  and  forces  greater  than  ourselves  ?  Then, 


78         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

since  nothing  can  be  greater  than  God,  He  must 
be  these  superior  mysteries.  Yet  He  cannot  be 
greater  than  our  minds,  for  our  minds  have 
imagined  Him. 

My  mathematics  is  very  rusty,  he  said  to  him 
self,  but  I  seem  to  remember  something  about  a 
locus,  which  was  a  curve  or  a  surface  every  point 
on  which  satisfied  some  particular  equation  of 
relation  among  the  coordinates.  It  begins  to 
look  to  me  as  though  life  might  be  a  kind  of  locus, 
whose  commanding  equation  we  call  God.  The 
points  on  that  locus  cannot  conceive  of  the  equa 
tion,  yet  they  are  subject  to  it.  They  cannot 
conceive  of  that  equation,  because  of  course  it 
has  no  existence  save  as  a  law  of  their  being.  It 
exists  only  for  them ;  they,  only  by  it.  But  there 
it  is — a  perfect,  potent,  divine  abstraction. 

This  carried  him  into  a  realm  of  disembodied 
thinking  which  his  mind  was  not  sufficiently  dis 
ciplined  to  summarize.  It  is  quite  plain,  he  said 
to  himself,  that  I  must  rub  up  my  vanished  mathe 
matics.  For  certainly  the  mathematician  comes 
closer  to  God  than  any  other,  since  his  mind  is 
trained  to  conceive  and  formulate  the  magnificent 
phantoms  of  legality.  He  smiled  to  think  that 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         79 

any  one  should  presume  to  become  a  parson  with 
out  having  at  least  mastered  analytical  ge 
ometry. 

The  ferry  had  crossed  and  recrossed  the  river 
several  times,  but  Gissing  had  found  no  conclus 
ion  for  these  thoughts.  As  the  boat  drew  toward 
her  slip,  she  passed  astern  of  a  great  liner. 
Gissing  saw  the  four  tall  funnels  loom  up  above 
the  shed  of  the  pier  where  she  lay  berthed.  What 
was  it  that  made  his  heart  so  stir?  The  perfect 
rake  of  the  funnels — just  that  satisfying  angle 
of  slant — that,  absurdly  enough,  was  the  nobility 
of  the  sight.  Why,  then?  Let's  get  at  the  heart 
of  this,  he  said.  Just  that  little  trick  of  the 
architect,  useless  in  itself — what  was  it  but  the 
touch  of  swagger,  of  bravado,  of  defiance — going 
out  into  the  vast,  meaningless,  unpitying  sea  with 
that  dainty  arrogance  of  build ;  taking  the  trouble 
to  mock  the  senseless  elements,  hurricane,  ice,  and 
fog,  with  a  15-degree  slope  of  masts  and  funnels 
.  .  .  damn,  what  was  the  analogy? 

It  was  pride,  it  was  pride!  It  was  the  same 
lusty  impudence  that  he  saw  in  his  perfect  city, 
the  city  that  cried  out  to  the  hearts  of  youth, 
jutted  her  mocking  pinnacles  toward  sky,  her 


80         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

clumsy  turrets  verticalled  on  gold !  And  God,  the 
God  of  gales  and  gravity,  loved  His  children  to 
dare  and  contradict  Him,  to  rally  Him  with  equa 
tions  of  their  own. 

"God,  I  defy  you!"  he  cried. 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

TIME  is   a  flowing  river.     Happy  those 
who  allow  themselves  to  be  carried,  un 
resisting,  with  the  current.     They  float 
through  easy  days.     They  live,  unquestioning,  in 
the  moment. 

But  Gissing  was  acutely  conscious  of  Time. 
Though  not  subtle  enough  to  analyze  the  matter 
acutely,  he  had  a  troublesome  feeling  about  it. 
He  kept  checking  off  a  series  of  Nows.  "Now  I 
am  having  my  bath,"  he  would  say  to  himself  in 
the  morning.  "Now  I  am  dressing.  Now  I  am 
on  the  way  to  the  store.  Now  I  am  in  the  jewel 
lery  aisle,  being  polite  to  customers.  Now  I  am 
having  lunch."  After  a  period  in  which  time  ran 
by  unnoticed,  he  would  suddenly  realize  a  fresh 
Now,  and  feel  uneasy  at  the  knowledge  that  it 
would  shortly  dissolve  into  another  one.  He 
tried,  vainly,  to  swim  up-stream  against  the 
smooth  impalpable  fatal  current.  He  tried  to 

81 


82        WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

dam  up  Time,  to  deepens&the  stream  so  that  he 
could  bathe  in  it  carelessly.  Time,  he  said,  is 
life;  and  life  is  God;  time,  then,  is  little  bits  of 
God.  Those  who  waste  their  time  in  vulgarity  or 
folly  are  the  true  atheists. 

One  of  the  things  that  struck  him  about  the 
city  was  its  heedlessness  of  Time.  On  every  side 
he  saw  people  spending  it  without  adequate  re 
turn.  Perhaps  he  was  young  and  doctrinaire: 
but  he  devised  this  theory  for  himself — all  time  is 
wasted  that  does  not  give  you  some  awareness  of 
beauty  or  wonder.  In  other  words,  "the  days 
that  make  us  happy  make  us  wise,"  he  said  to 
himself,  quoting  Masefield's  line.  On  that  prin 
ciple,  he  asked,  how  much  time  is  wasted  in  this 
city?  Well,  here  are  some  six  million  people. 
To  simplify  the  problem  (which  is  permitted  to 
every  philosopher)  let  us  (he  said)  assume  that 
2,350,000  of  those  people  have  spent  a  day  that 
could  be  called,  on  the  whole,  happy:  a  day  in 
which  they  have  had  glimpses  of  reality ;  a  day  in 
which  they  feel  satisfaction.  (That  was,  he  felt, 
a  generous  allowance.)  Very  well,  then,  that 
leaves  3,650,000  people  whose  day  has  been  un 
fruitful  :  spent  in  uncongenial  work,  or  in  sorrow, 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         83 

suffering,  and  talking  nonsense.  This  city,  then, 
in  one  day,  has  wasted  10,000  years,  or  100  cen 
turies.  One  hundred  centuries  squandered  in  a 
day!  It  made  him  feel  quite  ill,  and  he  tore  up 
the  scrap  of  paper  on  which  he  had  been  figuring. 

This  was  a  new,  disconcerting  way  to  think  of 
the  subject.  We  are  accustomed  to  consider 
Time  only  as  it  applies  to  ourselves,  forgetting 
that  it  is  working  upon  everyone  else  simultane 
ously.  Why,  he  thought  with  a  sudden  shock,  if 
only  36,500  people  in  this  city  have  had  a 
thoroughly  spendthrift  and  useless  day,  that 
means  a  net  loss  of  a  century!  If  the  War,  he 
said  to  himself,  lasted  over  1,500  days  and  in 
volved  more  than  10,000,000  men,  how  many 
aeons 

He  used  to  think  about  these  things  during  quiet 
evenings  in  the  top-floor  room  at  Mrs.  Purp's. 
Occasionally  he  went  home  at  night  still  wearing 
his  store  clothes,  because  it  pleased  good  Mrs. 
Purp  so  much.  She  felt  that  it  added  glamour 
to  her  house  to  have  him  do  so,  and  always  called 
her  husband,  a  frightened  silent  creature  with  no 
collar  and  a  humble  air,  up  from  the  basement  to 
admire.  Mr.  Purp's  time,  Gissing  suspected,  was 


84         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

irretrievably  wasted — a  good  deal  of  it,  to  judge 
by  his  dusty  appearance,  in  rolling  around  in  ash- 
cans  or  in  the  company  of  the  neighbourhood 
bootlegger;  but  then,  he  reflected,  in  a  charitable 
seizure,  you  must  not  judge  other  people's  time- 
spendings  by  a  calculus  of  your  own. 

Perhaps  he  himself  was  growing  a  little  miserly 
in  this  matter.  Indulging  in  the  rare,  the  sov 
ereign  luxury  of  thinking,  he  had  suddenly  become 
aware  of  time's  precious  fluency,  and  wondered 
why  everyone  else  didn't  think  about  it  as  passion 
ately  as  he  did.  In  the  privacy  of  his  room, 
weary  after  the  day  afoot,  he  took  off  his  cutaway 
coat  and  trousers  and  enjoyed  his  old  habit  of 
stretching  out  on  the  floor  for  a  good  rest.  There 
he  would  lie,  not  asleep,  but  in  a  bliss  of  passive 
meditation.  He  even  grudged  Mrs.  Purp  the 
little  chats  she  loved — she  made  a  point  of  coming 
up  with  clean  towels  when  she  knew  he  was  in  his 
room,  because  she  cherished  hearing  him  talk. 
When  he  heard  her  knock,  he  had  to  scramble 
hastily  to  his  feet,  get  on  his  clothes,  and  pre 
tend  he  had  been  sitting  calmly  in  the  rocking 
chair.  It  would  never  do  to  let  her  find  him 
sprawled  on  the  floor.  She  had  an  almost  pain- 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         85 

ful  respect  for  him.  Once,  when  prospective 
lodgers  were  bargaining  for  rooms,  and  he  hap 
pened  to  be  wearing  his  Beagle  and  Company 
attire,  she  had  asked  him  to  do  her  the  favour 
of  walking  down  the  stairs,  so  that  the  visitors 
might  be  impressed  by  the  gentility  of  the  estab 
lishment. 

Of  course  he  loved  to  waste  time — but  in  his 
own  way.  He  gloated  on  the  irresponsible  vac-  [^ 
ancy  of  those  evening  hours,  when  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done.  He  lay  very  still,  hardly 
even  thinking,  just  feeling  life  go  by.  Through 
the  open  window  came  the  lights  and  noises  of 
the  street.  Already  his  domestic  life  seemed 
dim  and  far  away.  The  shrill  appeals  of  the  pup 
pies,  their  appalling  innocent  comments  on  ex 
istence,  came  but  faintly  to  memory.  Here,  where 
life  beat  so  much  more  thickly  and  closely,  was 
the  place  to  be.  Though  he  had  solved  nothing, 
yet  he  seemed  closer  to  the  heart  of  the  mystery. 
Entranced,  he  felt  time  flowing  on  toward  him, 
endless  in  sweep  and  fulness.  There  is  only  one 
success,  he  said  to  himself — to  be  able  to  spend 
your  life  in  your  own  way,  and  not  to  give  others 
absurd  maddening  claims  upon  it.  Youth,  youth 


86         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

is   the  only  wealth,  for  youth  has   Time  in  its 
purse ! 

In  the  store,  however,  philosophy  was  laid  aside. 
A  kind  of  intoxication  possessed  him.  Never  be 
fore  had  old  Mr.  Beagle  (watching  delightedly 
from  the  mezzanine  balcony)  seen  such  a  floor 
walker.  Gissing  moved  to  and  fro  exulting  in  the 
great  tide  of  shopping.  He  knew  all  the  best 
customers  by  name  and  had  learned  their  pecul 
iarities.  If  a  shower  came  up  and  Mrs.  Mastiff 
was  just  leaving,  he  hastened  to  give  her  his  arm 
as  far  as  her  limousine,  boosting  her  in  so  expedi- 
tiously  that  not  a  drop  of  wetness  fell  upon  her. 
He  took  care  to  find  out  the  special  plat  du  jour 
of  the  store's  lunch  room,  and  seized  occasion  to 
whisper  to  Mrs.  Dachshund,  whose  weakness  was 
food,  that  the  filet  of  sole  was  very  nice  to-day. 
Mrs.  Pomeranian  learned  that  giving  Gissing  a 
hint  about  some  new  Parisian  importations  was 
more  effective  than  a  half  page  ad.  in  the  Sunday 
papers.  Within  a  few  hours,  by  a  judicious  word 
here  and  there,  he  would  have  a  score  of  ladies 
hastening  to  the  millinery  salon.  A  pearl  neck 
lace  of  great  value,  which  Mr.  Beagle  had  rebuked 
the  jewellery  buyer  for  getting,  because  it  seemed 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         87 

more  appropriate  for  a  dealer  in  precious  stones 
than  for  a  department  store,  was  disposed  of  al 
most  at  once.  Gissing  casually  told  Mrs.  Mastiff 
that  he  had  heard  Mrs.  Sealyham  intended  to  buy 
it.  As  for  Mrs.  Dachshund,  who  had  had  a  habit 
of  lunching  at  Delmonico's,  she  now  was  to  be 
seen  taking  tiffin  at  Beagle's  almost  daily.  There 
were  many  husbands  who  would  have  been  glad  to 
shoot  him  at  sight  on  the  first  of  the  month,  had 
they  known  who  was  the  real  cause  of  their  woe. 

Indeed,  Gissing  had  raised  floorwalking  to  a 
new  level.  He  was  more  prime  minister  than  a 
mere  patroller  of  aisles.  With  sparkling  eye, 
with  unending  curiosity,  tact,  and  attention,  he 
moved  quietly  among  the  throng.  He  realized 
that  shopping  is  the  female  paradise ;  that  spend 
ing  money  she  has  not  earned  is  the  only  real  fun 
an  elderly  and  wealthy  lady  can  have;  and  if  to 
this  primitive  shopping  passion  can  be  added  the 
delights  of  social  amenity — flattery,  courtesy,, 
good-humoured  flirtation — the  snare  is  complete. 

But  all  this  is  not  accomplished  without  rous 
ing  the  jealousy  of  rivals.  Among  the  other 
floorwalkers,  and  particularly  in  the  gorgeously 
uniformed  attendant  at  the  front  door  (who  was 


88         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

outraged  by  Gissing's  habit  of  escorting  special 
customers  to  their  motors)  moved  anger,  envy, 
and  sneers.  Gissing,  completely  absorbed  in  the 
fascination  of  his  work,  was  unaware  of  this  hos 
tility,  as  he  was  equally  unaware  of  the  amazed 
satisfaction  of  his  employer.  He  went  his  way 
with  naive  and  unconscious  pleasure.  It  did  not 
take  long  for  his  enemies  to  find  a  fulcrum  for 
their  chagrin.  One  evening,  after  closing,  when 
he  sat  in  the  dressing  room,  with  his  feet  in  the 
usual  tub  of  hot  water,  placidly  reviewing  the 
day's  excitements  and  smoking  his  pipe,  the  su 
perintendent  burst  in. 

"Hey !"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't  you  know  smok- 
ing's  forbidden?  What  do  you  want  to  do,  get 
our  fire  insurance  cancelled?  Get  out  of  here! 
You're  fired!" 

It  did  not  occur  to  Gissing  to  question  or  pro 
test.  He  had  known  perfectly  well  that  smoking 
was  not  allowed.  But  he  was  like  the  stage  hand 
behind  the  scenes  who  concluded  it  was  all  right 
to  light  a  cigarette  because  the  sign  only  said 

SMOKING  FORBIDDEN,   instead   of  SMOKING  STRICTI/iT 

FORBIDDEN.  He  had  not  troubled  his  mind  about 
it,  one  way  or  another. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         89 

He  had  drawn  his  salary  that  evening,  and  his 
first  thought  was,  Well,  at  any  rate  I've  earned 
enough  to  pay  for  the  clothes.  He  had  been  there 
exactly  four  weeks.  Quite  calmly,  he  lifted  his 
feet  out  of  the  tub  and  began  to  towel  them  dain 
tily.  The  meticulous  way  he  dried  between  his 
toes  was  infuriating  to  the  superintendent. 

"Have  you  any  children?"  Gissing  asked,  mildly. 

"What's  that  to  you?"  snapped  the  other. 

"I'll  sell  you  this  bathtub  for  a  quarter.  Take 
it  home  to  them.  They  probably  need  it." 

"You  get  out  of  here !"  cried  the  angry  official. 

"You'd  be  surprised,"  said  Gissing,  "how  chil 
dren  thrive  when  they're  bathed  regularly.  Be 
lieve  me,  I  know." 

He  packed  his  formal  clothes  in  a  neat  bundle, 
left  the  bathtub  behind,  surrendered  his  locker 
key,  and  walked  toward  the  employees'  door, 
escorted  by  his  bristling  superior.  As  they  passed 
through  the  empty  aisles,  scene  of  his  brief  tri 
umph,  he  could  not  help  gazing  a  little  sadly. 
True  merchant  to  the  last,  a  thought  struck  him, 
He  scribbled  a  note  on  the  back  of  a  sales  slipt 
and  left  it  at  Miss  Whippet's  post  by  the  stock 
ing  counter.  It  said: — 


90         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

MISS  WHIPPET:  Show  Mrs.  SealyTiam  some  of  the 
bisque  sports  hose,  Scotch  wool,  size  9.  She's  com 
ing  to-morrow.  Don't  let  her  get  size  8%.  They 

shrink. 

MR.  GISSING. 

At  the  door  he  paused,  relit  his  pipe  leisurely, 
raised  his  hat  to  the  superintendent,  and  strolled 
away. 

In  spite  of  this  nonchalance,  the  situation  was 
serious.  His  money  was  at  a  low  ebb.  All  his 
regular  income  was  diverted  to  the  support  of 
the  large  household  in  the  country.  He  was  too 
proud  to  appeal  to  his  wealthy  uncle.  He  hated 
also  to  think  of  Mrs.  Purp's  mortification  if  she 
learned  that  her  star  boarder  was  out  of  work. 
By  a  curious  irony,  when  he  got  home  he  found 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Spaniel : — 

MR.  GISHING,  dere  friend,  the  pupeys  are  well,  no 
insecks,  and  eat  with  nives  and  forx  Groups  is  the 
fattest  but  Telpers  is  the  lowdest  they  send  wags 
and  lix  and  glad  to  here  Daddy  is  doing  so  well  in 
buisness  with  respects  from 

MRS.    SPANIEL. 

He  did  not  let  Mrs.  Purp  know  of  the  change  in 
his  condition,  and  every  morning  left  his  lodging 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         91 

at  the  usual  time.  By  some  curious  attraction 
he  felt  drawn  to  that  downtown  region  where  his 
kinsman's  office  was.  This  part  of  the  city  he 
had  not  properly  explored. 

It  was  a  world  wholly  different  from  Fifth  Ave 
nue.  There  was  none  of  that  sense  of  space  and 
luxury  he  had  known  on  the  wide  slopes  of  Mur 
ray  Hill.  He  wandered  under  terrific  buildings, 
in  a  breezy  shadow  where  javelins  of  colourless 
sunlight  pierced  through  thin  slits,  hot  brilliance 
fell  in  fans  and  cascades  over  the  uneven  terrace 
of  roofs.  Here  was  where  husbands  worked  to 
keep  Fifth  Avenue  going:  he  wondered  vaguely 
whether  Mrs.  Sealyham  had  bought  those  stock 
ings?  One  day  he  saw  his  uncle  hurrying  along 
Wall  Street  with  an  intent  face.  Gissing  skipped 
into  a  doorway,  fearing  to  be  recognized.  He 
knew  that  the  old  fellow  would  insist  on  taking 
him  to  lunch  at  the  Pedigree  Club,  would  talk  end 
lessly,  and  ask  family  questions.  But  he  was 
on  the  scent  of  matters  that  talk  could  not 
pursue. 

He  perceived  a  sense  of  pressure,  of  prodigious 
poetry  and  beauty  and  amazement.  This  was  a 
strange  jungle  of  life.  Tall  coasts  of  windows 


92         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

stood  up  into  the  pure  brilliant  sky :  against  their 
feet  beat  a  dark  surf  of  slums.  In  one  foreign 
street,  too  deeply  trenched  for  sunlight,  oranges 
were  the  only  gold.  The  water,  reaching  round 
in  two  arms,  came  close:  there  was  a  note  of 
husky  summons  in  the  whistles  of  passing  craft. 
Almost  everywhere,  sharp  above  many  smells  of 
oils  and  spices,  the  whiff  of  coffee  tingled  his 
busy  nose.  Above  one  huge  precipice  stood  a 
gilded  statue — a  boy  with  wings,  burning  in  the 
noon.  Brilliance  flamed  between  the  vanes  of  his 
pinions:  the  intangible  thrust  of  that  pouring 
light  seemed  about  to  hover  him  off  into  blue 
air. 

The  world  of  working  husbands  was  more  tender 
than  that  of  shopping  wives :  even  in  all  their  busi 
ness,  they  had  left  space  and  quietness  for  the 
dead.  Sunken  among  the  crags  he  found  two 
graveyards.  They  were  cups  of  placid  brightness. 
Here,  looking  upward,  it  was  like  being  drowned 
on  the  floor  of  an  ocean  of  light.  Husbands  had 
built  their  offices  half-way  to  the  sky  rather  than 
disturb  these.  Perhaps  they  appreciate  rest  all 
the  more,  Gissing  thought,  because  they  get  so 
little  of  it?  Somehow  he  could  not  quite  imagine 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         93 

a  graveyard  left  at  peace  in  the  shopping  district. 
It  would  be  bad  for  trade,  perhaps?  Even  the 
churches  on  the  Avenue,  he  had  noticed,  were 
huddled  up  and  hemmed  in  so  tightly  by  the  other 
buildings  that  they  had  scarcely  room  to  kneel, 
If  I  ever  become  a  parson,  he  said  (this  was  a 
fantastic  dream  of  his),  I  will  insist  that  all 
churches  must  have  a  girdle  of  green  about  them, 
to  set  them  apart  from  the  world. 

The  two  little  brown  churches  among  the  cliffs 
had  been  gifted  with  a  dignity  far  beyond  the 
dream  of  their  builders.  Their  pointing  spires 
were  relieved  against  the  enormous  fa9ades  of 
business.  What  other  altars  ever  had  such  a 
reredos?  Above  the  strepitant  racket  of  the 
streets,  he  heard  the  harsh  chimes  of  Trinity  at 
noonday — strong  jags  of  clangour  hurled  against 
the  great  sounding-boards  of  buildings ;  drifting 
and  dying  away  down  side  alleys.  There  was  no 
soft  music  of  appeal  in  the  bronze  volleying:  it 
was  the  hoarse  monitory  voice  of  rebuke.  So 
spoke  the  church  of  old,  he  thought:  not  asking, 
not  appealing,  but  imperatively,  sternly,  as  one 
born  to  command.  He  thought  with  new  respect 
of  Mr.  Sealyham,  Mr.  Mastiff,  Mr.  Dachshund, 


94         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

all  the  others  who  were  powers  in  these  fan 
tastic  flumes  of  stone.  They  were  more  than 
merely  husbands  of  charge  accounts — they 
were  poets.  They  sat  at  lunch  on  the  tops 
of  their  amazing  edifices,  and  looked  off  at 
the  blue. 

Day  after  day  went  by,  but  with  a  serene  fatal 
ism  Gissing  did  nothing  about  hunting  a  job.  He 
was  willing  to  wait  until  the  last  dollar  was  bro 
ken:  in  the  meantime  he  was  content.  You  never 
know  the  soul  of  a  city,  he  said,  until  you  are 
down  on  your  luck.  Now,  he  felt,  he  had  been 
here  long  enough  to  understand  her.  She  did 
not  give  her  secrets  to  the  world  of  Fifth  Avenue. 
Down  here,  where  the  deep  crevice  of  Broadway 
opened  out  into  greenness,  what  was  the  first 
thing  he  saw?  Out  across  the  harbour,  turned 
toward  open  sea — Liberty!  Liberty  Enlightening 
the  World,  he  had  heard,  was  her  full  name.  Some 
had  mocked  her,  he  had  also  heard.  Well,  what 
was  the  gist  of  her  enlightenment?  Why  this, 
surely:  that  Liberty  could  never  be  more  than  a 
statue :  never  a  reality.  Only  a  fool  would  expect 
complete  liberty.  He  himself,  with  all  his  latitude, 
was  not  free.  If  he  were,  he  would  cook  his  meals 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         95 

in  his  room,  and  save  money — but  Mrs.  Purp 
was  strict  on  that  point.  She  had  spoken 
scathingly  of  two  young  females  she  ejected  for 
just  that  reason.  Nor  was  Mrs.  Purp  free — 
she  was  ridden  by  the  Gas  Company.  So  it 
went. 

It  struck  him,  now  he  was  down  to  about  three 
dollars,  that  a  generous  gesture  toward  Fortune 
might  be  valuable.  When  you  are  nearly  out  of 
money,  he  reasoned,  to  toss  coins  to  the  gods — i.  e., 
to  buy  something  quite  unnecessary — may  be 
propitiatory.  It  may  start  something  moving 
in  your  direction.  It  is  the  touch  of  bravado 
that  God  relishes.  In  a  sudden  mood  of  tender 
ness,  he  bought  two  dollars'  worth  of  toys  and 
had  them  sent  to  the  children.  He  smiled  to  think 
how  they  would  frolic  over  the  jumping  rabbit. 
He  sent  Mrs.  Spaniel  a  postcard  of  the  Aqua 
rium. 

There  is  a  good  deal  more  to  this  business 
than  I  had  realized,  he  said,  as  he  walked  uptown 
through  the  East  Side  slums  that  hot  night.  The 
audacity,  the  vitality,  the  magnificence,  are  plain 
enough.  But  I  seem  to  see  squalor  too,  horror 
and  pitiful  dearth.  I  believe  God  is  farther  off 


96         WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

than  I  thought.  Look  here :  if  the  more  you  know, 
the  less  you  know  about  God,  doesn't  that  mean 
that  God  is  really  enjoyed  only  by  the  completely 
simple — by  faith,  never  by  reason? 

He  gave  twenty-five  cents  to  a  beggar,  and  said 
angrily:  "I  am  not  interested  in  a  God  who  is 
known  only  by  faith." 

When  he  got  uptown  he  was  very  tired  and 
hungry.  In  spite  of  all  Mrs.  Purp's  rules,  he 
smuggled  in  an  egg,  a  box  of  biscuits,  a  small 
packet  of  tea  and  sugar,  and  a  tin  of  condensed 
milk.  He  emptied  the  milk  into  his  shaving  mug, 
and  used  the  tin  to  boil  water  in,  holding  it  over 
the  gas  jet.  He  was  getting  on  finely  when  a 
sudden  knock  on  the  door  made  him  jump.  He 
spilled  the  hot  water  on  his  leg,  and  uttered  a 
wild  yell. 

Mrs.  Purp  burst  in,  but  she  was  so  excited  that 
she  did  not  notice  the  egg  seeping  into  the  clean 
counterpane. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Gissing,"  she  exclaimed,  "I've  been 
waiting  all  evening  for  you  to  come  in.  Purp  and 
I  wondered  if  you'd  seen  this  in  the  paper  to-night? 
Purp  noticed  it  in  the  ads.,  but  we  couldn't  under 
stand  what  it  meant." 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         97 

She  held  out  a  page  of  classified  advertising, 
in  which  he  read  with  amazement  : 


PERSONAL 

If  MR.  GISSING,  late  floorwalker  at  Beagle  and 
Company,  will  communicate  with  Mr.  Beagle  Senior, 
he  will  hear  matters  greatly  to  his  advantage. 


CHAPTER    NINE 

THERE  had  been  great  excitement  in  the 
private  offices  of  Beagle  and  Company 
after  Gissing's  sudden  disappearance. 
Old  Mr.  Beagle  was  furious,  and  hotly  scolded  his 
son.  In  spite  of  his  advanced  age,  Beagle  senior 
was  still  an  autocrat  and  insisted  on  regulating 
the  details  of  the  great  business  he  had  built  up. 
"You  numbskull!"  he  shouted  to  Beagle  junior, 
"that  fellow  was  worth  any  dozen  others  in  the 
place,  and  you  let  him  be  fired  by  a  mongrel  super 
intendent." 

"But,  Papa,"  protested  the  vice-president, 
"the  superintendent  had  to  obey  the  rules.  You 
know  how  strict  the  underwriters  are  about 
smoking.  Of  course  he  should  have  warned  Gis- 
sing,  instead  of  discharging  him " 

"Rules!"  interrupted  old  Beagle  fiercely — 
"Rules  don't  apply  in  a  case  like  this.  I  tell 
you  that  fellow  has  a  genius  for  storekeeping. 

98 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS         99 

Haven't  I  watched  him  on  the  floor?  I've  never 
seen  one  like  him.  What's  the  good  of  your  new 
fangled  methods,  your  card  indexes  and  overhead 
charts,  when  you  haven't  even  got  a  record  of  his 
address  ?" 

Growling  and  showing  his  teeth,  the  head  of 
the  firm  plodded  stiffly  downstairs  and  discharged 
the  superintendent  himself.  Already  he  saw  signs 
of  disorganization  in  the  main  aisle.  Miss 
Whippet  was  tearful :  customers  were  waiting  im 
patiently  to  have  exchange  slips  O.  K.'d:  Mrs. 
Dachshund  was  turning  over  some  jewelled 
lorgnettes,  but  it  was  plain  that  she  was  only 
"looking,"  and  had  no  intention  to  purchase. 

So  when,  after  many  vain  inquiries,  the  adver 
tisement  reached  its  target,  the  old  gentleman 
welcomed  Gissing  with  genuine  emotion.  He  re 
ceived  him  into  his  private  office,  locked  the 
door,  and  produced  a  decanter.  Evidently  be 
neath  his  irritable  moods  he  had  sensibilities  of 
his  own. 

"I  have  given  my  life  to  trade,"  he  said,  "and 
I  have  grown  weary  of  watching  the  half-hearted 
simpletons  who  imagine  they  can  rise  to  the  top 
by  thinking  more  about  themselves  than  they  do 


100       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

about  the  business.  You,  Mr.  Gissing,  have  won 
my  heart.  You  see  storekeeping  as  I  do — a  fine 
art,  an  absorbing  passion,  a  beautiful,  thrilling 
sport.  It  is  an  art  as  lovely  and  subtle  as  the 
theatre,  with  the  same  skill  in  wooing  and  charm 
ing  the  public." 

Gissing  bowed,  and  drank  Mr.  Beagle's  health, 
to  cover  his  astonishment.  The  aged  merchant 
fixed  him  with  a  glittering  eye. 

"I  can  see  that  storekeeping  is  your  genius  in 
life.  I  can  see  that  you  are  naturally  conse 
crated  to  it.  My  son  is  a  good  steady  fellow,  but 
he  lacks  the  divine  gift.  I  am  getting  old.  We 
need  new  fire,  new  brains,  in  the  conduct  of 
this  business.  I  ask  you  to  forgive  the  unlucky 
blunder  we  made  lately,  and  devote  yourself  to  us." 

Gissing  was  very  much  embarrassed.  He  wanted 
to  say  that  if  he  was  going  to  consecrate  himself 
to  floorwalking,  he  would  relish  a  raise  in  salary ; 
but  old  Beagle  was  so  tremulous  and  kept  blowing 
his  nose  so  loudly  that  Gissing  doubted  if  he 
could  make  himself  heard. 

"I  want  you  to  take  a  position  as  General 
Manager,"  said  Mr.  Beagle,  "with  a  salary  of  ten 
thousand  a  year."  * 


WHERE  THE  BUJfi  BEGINS       101 

He  rose  and  threw  open'  a  mahogany  'door  that 
led  out  of  his  own  sanctum.  "Here  is  your 
office,"  he  said. 

The  bewildered  Gissing  looked  about  the  room 
—the  mahogany  flat-topped  desk  with  a  great 
sheet  of  plate  glass  shining  greenly  at  its  thick 
edges  ;  an  inkwell,  pens  and  pencils,  a  little  glass 
bowl  full  of  bright  paper-clips  ;  one  of  those  rock 
ing  blotters  that  are  so  tempting  ;  a  water  cooler 
which  just  then  uttered  a  seductive  gulping  bub 
ble;  an  electric  fan,  gently  humming;  wooden 
trays  for  letters  and  memoranda;  on  one  wall  a 
great  chart  of  names,  lettered  Organization  of 
Personnel;  a  nice  domestic-looking  hat-and-coat 
stand  ;  a  soft  green  rug  - 

Ah,  how  alluring  it  all  was  ! 

Mr.  Beagle  pointed  to  the  outer  door  of  the 
room,  which  had  a  frosted  pane.  Through  the  glass 
the  astounded  floorwalker  could  read  the  words 


What  a  delightful  little  room  to  meditate  in. 
From  the  broad  windows  he  could  see  the  whole 


102       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

shining  tideway  of  Fifth  Avenue,  passing  lazily 
in  the  warm  sunlight.  He  turned  to  Mr.  Beagle, 
greatly  moved. 

The   next  day  an   advertisement   appeared  in 
the  leading  papers,  to  this  effect: — 


BEAGLE  AND  COMPANY 

take  pleasure  in  announcing  to 
their  patrons  and  friends  tnat 

MR.  GISSING 

has  been  admitted  to  the  firm  in 

tne  status  of  General  Manager 

Je  Mainiiendrai 


Mrs.  Purp's  excitement  at  this  is  easier  im 
agined  than  described.  Her  only  fear  was  that 
now  she  would  lose  her  best  lodger.  She  made 
Purp  go  out  and  buy  a  new  shirt  and  a  collar; 
she  told  Gissing,  rather  pathetically,  that  she  in 
tended  to  have  the  whole  house  repapered  in  the 
fall.  The  big  double  suite  downstairs,  which 
could  be  used  as  bedroom  and  sitting-room,  she 
suggested  as  a  comfortable  change.  But  Gissing 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       103 

preferred  to  remain  where  he  was.     He  had  grown 
fond  of  the  top  floor. 

Certainly  there  was  an  exhilaration  in  his  new 
importance  and  prosperity.  The  store  buzzed 
with  the  news.  At  his  request,  Miss  Whippet  was 
promoted  to  the  seventh  floor  to  be  his  secretary. 
It  was  delightful  to  make  his  morning  tour  of  in 
spection  through  the  vast  building.  Mr.  Hound, 
the  store  detective,  loved  to  tell  his  cronies  how 
suspiciously  he  had  followed  "The  Duke"  that 
first  day.  As  Gissing  moved  through  the  busy 
departments  he  saw  eyes  following  him,  tails  wag 
ging.  Customers  were  more  flattered  than  ever  by 
his  courteous  attentions.  One  day  he  even  held  a 
little  luncheon  party  in  the  restaurant,  at  which 
Mrs.  Dachshund,  Mrs.  Mastiff,  and  Mrs.  Sealy- 
ham  were  his  guests.  He  invited  their  husbands, 
but  the  latter  were  too  busy  to  come.  It  would 
have  been  more  prudent  of  them  to  attend.  That 
afternoon  Mrs.  Dachshund,  carried  away  by  en 
thusiasm,  bought  a  platinum  wrist-watch.  Mrs. 
Mastiff  bought  a  diamond  dog-collar.  Mrs. 
Sealyham,  whose  husband  was  temporarily  em 
barrassed  in  Wall  Street,  contented  herself  with 
a  Sheraton  chifforobe. 


104       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

But  it  began  to  be  evident  that  his  delightful 
little  office  was  not  going  to  be  a  shrine  for  quiet 
meditation.  His  vanity  had  been  pleased  by  the 
large  advertisement  about  him,  but  he  suddenly 
realized  the  poison  that  lies  in  printer's  ink. 
Almost  overnight,  it  seemed,  he  had  been  added  to 
ten  thousand  mailing  lists.  Little  Miss  Whippet, 
although  she  was  fast  at  typewriting,  was  hard 
put  to  it  to  keep  up  with  his  correspondence. 
She  quivered  eagerly  over  her  machine,  her  small 
paws  flying.  New  pink  ribbons  gleamed  through 
her  translucent  summery  georgette  blouse.  They 
were  her  flag  of  exultation  at  her  surprising  rise 
in  life.  She  felt  it  was  immensely  important  to 
get  all  these  letters  answered  promptly. 

And  so  did  Gissing.  In  his  new  zeal,  and  in 
his  innocent  satisfaction  at  having  entered  the 
inner  circle  of  Big  Business,  he  insisted  on  an 
swering  everything.  He  did  not  realize  that  dic 
tating  letters  is  the  quaint  diversion  of  business 
men,  and  that  most  of  them  mean  nothing.  It  is 
simply  the  easiest  way  of  assuring  yourself  that 
you  are  busy. 

This  job  was  no  sinecure.  Old  Mr.  Beagle  had 
so  much  affectionate  confidence  in  Gissing  that  he 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       105 

referred  almost  everything  to  him  for  decision. 
Mr.  Beagle  junior,  perhaps  a  little  annoyed  at 
the  floorwalker's  meteoric  translation,  spent  the 
summer  afternoons  at  golf.  The  infinite  details 
of  a  great  business  crowded  upon  him.  Inexpe 
rienced,  he  had  not  learned  the  ways  in  which 
seasoned  "executives"  protect  themselves  against 
useless  intrusion.  His  telephone  buzzed  like  a 
hornet.  Not  five  minutes  went  by  without  callers 
or  interruptions  of  some  sort. 

Most  amazing  of  all,  he  found,  was  the  mis 
cellaneous  passion  for  palaver  displayed  by  Big 
Business.  Immediately  he  was  invited  to  join 
innumerable  clubs,  societies,  merchants'  associa 
tions.  Every  day  would  arrive  letters,  on  heavily 
embossed  paper — "The  Sales  Managers  Club 
will  hold  a  round-table  discussion  on  Friday 
at  one  o'clock.  We  would  greatly  appreciate  it 
if  you  would  be  with  us  and  say  a  few  words." — 
"Will  you  be  our  guest  at  the  monthly  dinner  of 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Guild,  and  give  us  any  preach 
ment  that  is  on  your  mind?" — "The  Merchandis 
ing  Uplift  Group  of  Murray  Hill  will  meet  at 
the  Commodore  for  an  informal  lunch.  It  has 
been  suggested  that  you  contribute  to  the  dis- 


106       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

cussion  on  Underwriting  Overhead." — "The  Exe 
cutives  Association  plans  a  clambake  and  barbe 
cue  at  the  Barking  Rock  Country  Club.  Around 
the  bonfire  a  few  impromptu  remarks  on  Business 
Cycles  will  be  called  for.  May  we  count  on  you  ?" 
— "Will  you  address  the  Convention  of  Knitted 
Bodygarment  Buyers,  on  whatever  topic  is  near 
est  your  heart?" — "Will  you  write  for  Bunion 
and  Callous,  the  trade  organ  of  the  Floorwalkers' 
Union,  a  thousand-word  review  of  your  career?" 
— "Will  you  broadcast  a  twenty-minute  talk  on 
Department  Store  Ethics,  at  the  radio  station  in 
Newark?  250,000  radio  fans  will  be  listening  in." 
New  to  the  strange  and  high-spirited  world  of 
"executives,"  it  was  natural  that  Gissing  did  not 
realize  that  the  net  importance  of  this  kind  of 
thing  was  absolute  zerp.  vlt  did  strike  him  as 
odd,  perhaps,  that  merchants  did  not  dare  to  go 
on  a  junket  or  plan  a  congenial  dinner  without 
pretending  to  themselves  that  it  had  some  busi 
ness  significance.  But,  having  been  so  amaz 
ingly  lifted  into  this  atmosphere  of  great  affairs, 
he  felt  it  was  his  duty  to  the  store  to  play  -the 
game  according  to  the  established  rules.  He  was 
borne  along  on  a  roaring  spate  of  conferences, 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       107 

telephone  calls,  appointments,  Rotarian  lunches, 
Chamber  of  Commerce  dinners,  picnics  to  talk 
tariff,  house-parties  to  discuss  demurrage,  tennis 
tournaments  to  settle  the  sales-tax,  golf  four 
somes  to  regulate  price-maintenance.  Of  all 
these  matters  he  knew  nothing  whatever;  and  he 
also  saw  that  as  far  as  the  business  of  Beagle  and 
Company  was  concerned  it  would  be  better  not  to 
waste  his  time  on  such  side-issues.  The  way  he 
could  really  be  of  service  was  in  the  store  itself, 
tactfully  lubricating  that  complicated  engine  of 
goods  and  personalities.  But  he  learned  to  utter, 
when  called  upon,  a  few  suave  generalities,  barbed 
with  a  rollicking  story.  This  made  him  always 
welcome.  He  was  of  a  studious  disposition,  and 
liked  to  examine  this  queer  territory  of  life  with 
an  unprejudiced  eye.  After  all,  his  inward  secret 
purpose  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  success  or 
failure  of  retail  trade.  He  was  still  seeking  a 
horizon  that  would  stay  blue  when  he  reached  it. 
More  and  more  he  was  interested  to  perceive 
how  transparent  the  mummery  of  business  was. 
He  was  interested  to  note  how  persistently  men 
fled  from  success,  how  carefully  most  of  them 
avoided  the  obvious  principles  of  utility,  honesty, 


108       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

prudence,  and  courtesy,  which  are  inevitably  re 
warded.  These  sagacious,  humorous  fellows  who 
were  amusing  themselves  with  twaddling  trade 
apothegms  and  ridiculous  banqueteering  solem-, 
nities,  surely  they  were  aware  that  this  had  no 
bearing  upon  their  own  jobs?  He  suspected  that 
it  was  all  a  feverish  anodyne  to  still  some  inward 
unease.  Since  they  must  (not  being  fools)  be 
aware  that  these  antics  were  mere  subtraction  of 
time  from  their  business,  the  obvious  conclusion 
was,  they  were  not  happy  with  business.  There 
was  some  strange  wistfulness  in  the  conduct  of 
Big  Business  Dogs,  he  thought.  Under  the  pre 
tence  of  transacting  affairs,  they  were  really  try 
ing  to  discover  something  that  had  eluded  them. 

The  same  thing,  strangely  enough,  seemed  to 
be  going  on  in  a  sphere  of  which  he  knew  nothing, 
the  world  of  art.  He  gathered  from  the  papers 
that  writers,  painters,  musicians,  were  holding 
shindies  almost  every  night,  at  which  delightful 
rebels,  too  busy  to  occupy  themselves  with  actual 
creation,  talked  charmingly  about  their  plans. 
Poets  were  reading  poems  incessantly,  forgetting 
to  write  any.  Much  of  the  newspaper  comment 
on  literature  made  him  shudder,  for  though  this 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       109 

was  a  province  quite  strange  to  him,  lie  had  sound 
instincts.  He  discerned  fatal  ignorance  and  ab 
surdity  between  the  pompous  lines.  Yet,  in  its 
own  way,  it  seemed  a  bold  and  honest  ignorance. 
Were  these,  too,  like  the  wistful  executives,  seek 
ing  where  the  blue  begins  ? 

But  what  was  this  strange  agitation  that  for 
bade  his  fellow-creatures  from  enjoying  the  one 
thing  that  makes  achievement  possible — Solitude? 
He  himself,  so  happy  to  be  left  alone — was  no 
one  else  like  that?  And  yet  this  very  solitude 
that  he  craved  and  revelled  in  was,  by  a  sublime 
paradox,  haunted  by  mysterious  loneliness.  He 
felt  sometimes  as  though  his  heart  had  been 
broken  off  from  some  great  whole,  to  which  it 
yearned  to  be  reunited.  It  felt  like  a  bone  that 
had  been  buried,  which  God  would  some  day  dig 
up.  Sometimes,  in  his  cynomorphic  conception 
of  deity,  he  felt  near  him  the  thunder  of  those 
mighty  paws.  In  rare  moments  of  silence  he 
gazed  from  his  office  window  upon  the  sun-gilded, 
tempting  city.  Her  madness  was  upon  him — her 
splendid  craze  of  haste,  ambition,  pride.  Yet  he 
wondered.  This  God  he  needed,  this  liberating 
horizon,  was  it  after  all  in  the  cleverest  of  hiding- 


110       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

places — in  himself?  Was  it  in  his  own  undeluded 
heart  ? 

Miss  Whippet  came  scurrying  in  to  say  that 
the  Display  Manager  begged  him  to  attend  a  con 
ference.  The  question  of  apportioning  window 
space  to  the  various  departments  was  to  be  re 
considered.  Also,  the  book  department  had  pro 
tested  having  rental  charged  against  them  for 
books  exhibited  merely  to  add  a  finishing  touch 
to  a  furniture  display.  Other  agenda:  the  Per 
sonnel  Director  wished  an  appointment  to  discuss 
the  ruling  against  salesbitches  bobbing  their  hair. 
The  Commissary  Department  wished  to  present 
revised  figures  as  to  the  economy  that  would  be 
effected  by  putting  the  employees'  cafeteria  on 
the  same  floor  as  the  store's  restaurant.  He  must 
decide  whether  early  closing  on  Saturdays  would 
continue  until  Labor  Day. 

As  he  went  about  these  and  a  hundred  other 
fascinating  trivialities,  he  had  a  painful  sense  of 
treachery  to  Mr.  Beagle  senior.  The  old  gentle 
man  was  so  touchingly  certain  that  he  had  found 
in  him  the  ideal  shoulders  on  which  to  unload  his 
honourable  and  crushing  burden.  With  more  than 
paternal  pride  old  Beagle  saw  Gissing,  evidently 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       111 

urbane  and  competent,  cheerfully  circulating  here 
and  there.  The  shy  angel  of  doubt  that  lay  deep 
in  Gissing's  cider-coloured  eye,  the  proprietor  did 
not  come  near  enough  to  observe. 

If  there  is  tragedy  in  our  story,  alas  here  it  is. 
Gissing,  incorrigible  seceder  from  responsibilities 
that  did  not  touch  his  soul,  did  not  dare  tell  his 
benefactor  the  horrid  truth.  But  the  worm  was 
in  his  heart.  Late  one  night,  in  his  room  at  Mrs. 
Purp's,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Poodle.  After 
mailing  it  at  a  street-box,  he  had  a  sudden  pang. 
To  the  dreamer,  decisions  are  fearful.  Then  he 
shook  himself  and  ran  lightly  to  a  little  lunchroom 
on  Amsterdam  Avenue,  where  he  enjoyed  dough 
nuts  and  iced  tea.  His  mind  was  resolved.  The 
doughnuts,  by  a  simple  symbolism,  made  him 
think  of  Rotary  Clubs,  also  of  millstones.  No, 
he  must  be  fugitive  from  honour,  from  wealth, 
from  Chambers  of  Commerce.  Fugitive  from  all 
save  his  own  instinct.  Those  who  have  bound 
themselves  are  only  too  eager  to  see  the  chains  on 
others.  There  was  no  use  attempting  to  explain 
to  Mr.  Beagle — the  dear  old  creature  would  not 
understand. 

The  next  day,  after  happily  and  busily  dis- 


r 


112       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

charging  his  duties,  and  staying  late  to  clean  up 
his  desk,  Gissing  left  Beagle  and  Company  for 
good.  The  only  thing  that  worried  him,  as  he 
looked  round  his  comfortable  office  for  the  last 
time,  was  the  thought  of  little  Miss  Whippet's 
chagrin  when  she  found  her  new  promotion  at 
an  end.  She  had  taken  such  delight  in  their 
mutual  dignity.  On  the  filing  cabinet  beside  her 
typewriter  desk  was  a  pink  geranium  in  a  pot, 
which  she  watered  every  morning.  He  could  not 
resist  pulling  out  a  drawer  of  her  desk,  and  smiled 
gently  to  see  the  careful  neatness  of  its  compart 
ments,  with  all  her  odds  and  ends  usefully  ar 
ranged.  The  ink-eraser,  with  an  absurd  little 
whisk  attached  to  it  for  brushing  away  fragments 
of  rubbed  paper ;  the  fascicle  of  sharpened  pencils 
held  together  by  an  elastic  band ;  the  tiny  phial 
of  typewriter  oil;  a  small  box  of  peppermints;  a 
crumpled  handkerchief;  the  stenographic  note 
book  with  a  pencil  inserted  at  the  blank  page,  so 
as  to  be  ready  for  instant  service  the  next  day ; 
the  long  paper-cutter  for  slitting  envelopes;  her 
memorandum  pad,  on  which  was  written  Remind 
Mr.  G.  of  Window  Display  Luncheon — it  seemed 
cruel  to  deprive  her  of  all  these  innocent  amuse- 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       113 

ments  in  which  she  delighted  so  much.  And  yet 
he  could  not  go  on  as  a  General  Manager  simply 
for  the  happiness  of  Miss  Whippet. 

In  the  foliage  of  the  geranium,  where  he  knew 
she  would  find  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  he 
left  a  note: — 

Miss  WHIPPET:  I  am  leaving  the  store  to-night 
and  will  not  be  back.  Please  notify  Mr.  Beagle. 
Explain  to  him  that  I  shall  never  take  a  position  with 
one  of  his  competitors;  I  am  leaving  not  because  I 
didn't  enjoy  the  job,  but  because  if  I  stayed  longer 
I  might  enjoy  it  too  much.  Tell  Mr.  Beagle  that  I 
specially  urge  him  to  retain  you  as  assistant  to  the 
new  Manager,  whoever  that  may  be.  You  are  en 
tirely  competent  to  attend  to  the  routine,  and  the  new 
Manager  can  spend  all  his  time  at  business  lunches. 

Please  inform  the  Display  Managers'  Club  that  I 
can't  speak  at  their  meeting  to-morrow. 

I  wish  you  all  possible  good  fortune. 

MR.  GISSING. 

As  }ie  passed  through  the  dim  and  silent  aisles 
of  the  store,  he  surveyed  them  again  with  mixed 
emotions.  Here  he  might,  apparently,  have  been 
king.  But  he  had  no  very  poignant  regret.  An 
other  of  his  numerous  selves,  he  reflected,  had 
committed  suicide.  That  was  the  right  idea:  to 


114       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

keep  sloughing  them  off,  throwing  overboard  the 
unreal  and  factitious  Gissings,  paring  them  down 
until  he  discovered  the  genuine  and  inalienable 
creature. 

And  so,  for  the  second  time,  he  made  a  stealthy 
exit  from  the  employees'  door. 

Four  days  later  he  read  in  the  paper  of  old 
Mr.  Beagle's  death.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
about  it.  The  merchant  died  of  a  broken  heart. 


M 


CHAPTER    TEN 

R.  POODLE'S   reply  was  disappointing. 
He  said :—  ^  Bernard's  Rectory, 

September  1st. 
MY  DEAR  MR.  GISSING: 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  conscientiously  see  my  way 
to  writing  to  the  Bishop  in  your  behalf.  Any  testi 
monial  I  could  compose  would  be  doubtful  at  best, 
for  I  cannot  agree  with  you  that  the  Church  is  your 
true  vocation.  I  do  not  believe  that  one  who  has 
deserted  his  family,  as  you  have,  and  whose  record 
(even  on  the  most  charitable  interpretation)  cannot 
be  described  as  other  than  eccentric,  would  be  useful 
in  Holy  Orders.  You  say  that  your  life  in  the  city 
has  been  a  great  purgation.  If  so,  I  suggest  that 
you  return  and  take  up  the  burdens  laid  upon  you. 
It  has  meant  great  mortification  to  me  that  one  of 
my  own  parish  has  been  the  cause  of  these  painful 
rumours  that  have  afflicted  our  quiet  community. 
Notwithstanding,  I  wish  you  well,  and  hope  that 
chastening  experience  may  bring  you  peace. 
Very  truly  yours, 

J.  ROVER  POODLE. 
115 


116      WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

Gissing  meditated  this  letter  in  the  silence  of  a 
long  evening  in  his  room.  He  brought  to  the 
problem  his  favourite  aid  to  clear  thinking — 
strong  coffee  mixed  with  condensed  milk.  Mrs. 
Purp  had  made  concession  to  his  peculiarities 
when  he  had  risen  so  high  in  the  world:  better 
to  break  any  rules,  she  thought,  than  lose  so 
notable  a  tenant.  She  had  even  installed  a  small 
gas-plate  for  him,  so  that  he  could  brew  his  morn 
ing  and  evening  coffee. 

So  he  took  counsel  with  his  percolator,  whose 
bubbling  was  a  sound  he  found  both  soothing  and 
stimulating.  He  regarded  it  as  a  kind  of  private 
oracle,  with  a  calm  voice  of  its  own.  He  listened 
attentively  as  he  waited  for  the  liquid  to  darken. 
Appeal — to — the — Bishop,  Appeal — to — the — 
Bishop,  seemed  to  be  the  speech  of  the  jetting 
gurgitation  under  the  glass  lid. 

He  determined  to  act  upon  this,  and  lay  his 
case  before  Bishop  Borzoi  even  without  the  in 
troduction  he  had  hoped  for.  Fortunately  he 
still  had  some  sheets  of  Beagle  and  Company  note- 
paper,  with  the  engraved  lettering  and  Office  of 
the  General  Manager  embossed  thereon.  He  was 
in  some  doubt  as  to  the  proper  formality  and  style 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       117 

of  address  in  communicating  with  a  Biahop:  was 
it  "Very  Reverend,"  or  "Right  Reverend"?  and 
which  of  these  indicated  a  superior  grade  of  rev- 
erendability  ?  But  he  decided  that  a  masculine 
frankness  would  not  be  amiss.  He  wrote: — 

VERY  RIGHT  REVEREND  BISHOP  BORZOI, 
Dear  Bishop: — 

May  one  of  the  least  of  your  admirers  solicit  an 
interview  with  your  very  right  reverence,  to  discuss 
matters  pertaining  to  religion,  theology,  and  a  pos 
sible  vacancy  in  the  Church?  If  there  are  any  sees 
outstanding,  it  would  be  a  favour.  This  is  very 
urgent.  I  enclose  a  stamped  addressed  envelope. 
Respectfully  yours, 

MR.  GISSING. 

A  prompt  reply  from  the  Bishop's  secretary 
granted  him  an  appointment. 

Scrupulously  attired  in  his  tail-coat  and  silk 
hat,  Gissing  proceeded  toward  the  rendezvous. 
To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  nervous :  his  mind  flitted 
uneasily  among  possible  embarrassments.  Sup 
pose  Mr.  Poodle  had  written  to  the  Bishop  to 
prejudice  his  application?  Another,  but  more  ab 
surd,  idea  troubled  him.  One  of  the  problems  in 
visiting  the  houses  of  the  Great  (he  had  learned 


118      WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

in  his  brief  career  in  Big  Business)  is  to  find  the 
door-bell.  It  is  usually  mysteriously  concealed. 
Suppose  he  should  have  to  peer  hopelessly  about 
the  vestibule,  in  a  shameful  and  suspicious  man 
ner,  until  some  flunky  came  out  to  chide?  In  the 
sunny  park  below  the  Cathedral  he  saw  nurses 
sitting  by  their  puppy-carriages;  for  an  instant 
he  almost  envied  their  gross  tranquillity.  They 
have  not  got  (he  said  to  himself)  to  call  on  a 
Bishop ! 

He  was  early,  so  he  strolled  for  a  few  minutes 
in  the  park  that  lies  underneath  that  rocky  scarp. 
On  the  summit,  clear-surging  against  the  blue,  the 
great  church  rode  like  a  ship  on  a  long  ridge  of 
sea.  The  angel  with  a  trumpet  on  the  jut  of  the 
roof  was  like  a  valiant  seaman  in  the  crow's  nest. 
His  agitation  was  calmed  by  this  noble  sight. 
Yes,  he  said,  the  Church  is  a  ship  behind  whose 
bulwarks  I  will  find  rest.  She  sails  an  unworldly 
sea:  her  crew  are  exempt  from  earthly  ambition 
and  fallacy. 

He  ran  nimbly  up  the  long  steps  that  scale  the 
cliff,  and  approached  the  episcopal  residence. 
The  bell  was  plainly  visible.  He  rang,  and  pres 
ently  came  a  tidy  little  housemaid.  He  had 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       119 

meditated  a  form  of  words.  It  would  be  absurd 
to  say  "Is  the  Bishop  in?"  for  he  knew  the  Bishop 
was  in.  So  he  said  "This  is  Mr.  Gissing.  I 
think  the  Bishop  is  expecting  me." 

Bishop  Borzoi  was  an  impressive  figure — im 
mensely  tall  and  slender,  with  long,  narrow  ascetic 
face  and  curly  white  hair.  He  was  surpris 
ingly  cordial. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Gissing?"  he  said.  "Sit  down,  sir. 
I  know  Beagle  and  Company  very  well.  Too 
well,  in  fact — Mrs.  Borzoi  has  an  account  there." 

Gissing,  feeling  rather  aghast  and  tentative, 
had  no  comment  ready.  He  was  still  worrying 
a  little  as  to  the  proper  mode  of  address. 

"It  is  very  pleasant  to  find  you  Influential  Mer 
chants  interested  in  the  Church,"  continued  the 
Bishop.  "I  often  thought  of  approaching  the 
late  Mr.  Beagle  on  the  subject  of  a  small 
contribution  to  the  cathedral.  Indeed,  I  kave 
spent  so  much  in  your  store  that  it  would  be 
only  a  fair  return.  Mr.  Collie,  of  Greyhound, 
Collie  and  Company,  has  been  very  handsome  with 
us:  he  has  just  provided  for  repaving  the 
choir." 

Gissing  began  to  fear  that  the  object  of  his 


120       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

visit  had  perhaps  been  misunderstood,  but  the 
prelate's  eyes  were  bright  with  benignant  en 
thusiasm  and  he  dared  not  interrupt. 

"You  inquired  most  kindly  in  your  letter  as  to 
a  possible  vacancy  in  the  Church.  Indeed  there 
is  a  niche  in  the  transept  that  I  should  be  happy 
to  see  filled.  It  is  intended  for  some  kind  of 
memorial  statue,  and  perhaps,  in  honour  of  the 
late  Mr.  Beagle " 

"I  must  explain,  Sir  Bishop,"  said  Gissing, 
very  much  disturbed,  "that  I  have  left  Beagle  and 
Company.  The  contribution  I  wish  to  make  to 
the  Church  is  not  a  decorative  one,  I  fear.  It  is 
myself." 

"Yourself?"  queried  the  Bishop,  politely  puz 
zled. 

"Yes,"  stammered  Gissing,  "I — in  fact,  I  am 
hoping  to — to  enter  the  ministry." 

The  Bishop  was  plainly  amazed,  and  his  long, 
aristocratic  nose  seemed  longer  than  ever  as  he 
gazed  keenly  at  his  caller. 

"But  have  you  had  any  formal  training  in 
theology?" 

None,  right  reverend  Bishop,"  said  Gissing. 
"But  it's  this  way,"  and,  incoherently  at  first,  but 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       121 

with  increasing  energy  and  copious  eloquence,  he 
poured  out  the  story  of  his  mental  struggles. 

"This  is  singularly  interesting,"  said  the  Bishop 
at  length.  "I  can  see  that  you  are  wholly  lack 
ing  in  the  rudiments  of  divinity.  Of  modern  ex 
egesis  and  criticism  you  are  quite  innocent.  But 
you  evidently  have  something  which  is  much  rarer 
— what  the  Quakers  call  a  concern.  Of  course 
you  should  really  go  to  the  theological  seminary 
and  establish  this  naif  intuitive  mysticism  upon 
a  disciplined  basis.  You  will  realize  that  we 
churchmen  can  only  meet  modern  rationalism  by 
a  rationalism  of  our  own — by  a  philosophical 
scholarship  which  is  unshakable.  I  do  not  sup 
pose  that  you  can  even  harmonize  the  Gospels?" 

Gissing  ruefully  admitted  his  ignorance. 

"Well,  at  least  I  must  make  sure  of  a  few  funda 
mentals,"  said  the  Bishop.  "Of  course  a  symbo- 
logical  latitude  is  permissible,  but  there  are  some 
essentials  of  dogma  and  creed  that  may  not  be 
foregone." 

He  subjected  the  candidate  to  a  rapid  cate 
chism.  Gissing,  in  a  state  of  mind  curiously 
mingled  of  excitement  and  awe,  found  himself 
assenting  to  much  that,  in  a  calmer  moment,  he 


122       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

would  hardly  have  admitted;  but  having  plunged 
so  deep  into  the  affair  he  felt  it  would  be  the 
height  of  discourtesy  to  give  negative  answers  to 
any  of  the  Bishop's  queries.  By  dint  of  hasty 
mental  adjustments  and  symbolic  interpretations, 
he  satisfied  his  conscience. 

"It  is  very  irregular,"  the  Bishop  admitted, 
"but  I  must  confess  that  your  case  interests  me 
greatly.  Of  course  I  cannot  admit  you  to  ordi 
nation  until  you  have  passed  through  the  regular 
theological  curriculum.  Yet  I  find  you  singularly 
apt  for  one  without  proper  training." 

He  brooded  a  while,  fixing  the  candidate  with 
a  clear  darkly  burning  eye. 

"It  struck  me  that  you  were  a  trifle  vague  upon 
some  of  the  Articles  of  Religion,  and  the  Table 
of  Kindred  and  Affinity.  You  must  remember 
that  these  articles  are  not  to  be  subjected  to 
your  own  sense  or  comment,  but  must  be  taken  in 
the  literal  and  grammatical  meaning.  However, 
you  show  outward  and  visible  signs  of  an  inward 
and  spiritual  grace.  It  so  happens  that  I  know 
of  a  small  chapel,  in  the  country,  that  has  been 
closed  for  lack  of  a  minister.  I  can  put  you  in 
charge  there  as  lay  reader." 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       123 

Gissing's  face  showed  his  elation. 

"And  wear  a  cassock?"  he  cried. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  the  Bishop  sternly.  "Not 
even  a  surplice.  You  must  remember  you  have 
not  been  ordained.  If  you  are  serious  in  your 
zeal,  you  must  work  your  way  up  gradually,  be 
ginning  at  the  bottom." 

"I  have  seen  some  of  your  cloth  with  a  little 
purple  dickey  which  looks  very  well  in  the  aper 
ture  of  the  waistcoat,"  said  Gissing  humbly. 
"How  long  would  it  take  me  to  work  up  to 
that?" 

Bishop  Borzoi,  who  had  a  sense  of  humour, 
laughed  genially. 

"Look  here,"  he  said.  "It's  a  fine  afternoon: 
I'll  order  my  car  and  we'll  drive  out  to  Dalma 
tian  Heights.  I'll  show  you  your  chapel,  and 
tell  you  exactly  what  your  duties  will  be." 

Gissing  was  startled.  Dalmatian  Heights  was 
only  a  few  miles  from  the  Canine  Estates.  If 
the  news  should  reach  Mr.  Poodle 

"Sir  Bishop,"  he  said  nervously,  "I  begin  to 
fear  that  perhaps  after  all  I  am  unworthy.  Now 
about  those  Articles  of  Religion:  I  may  perhaps 
have  given  some  of  them  a  conjectural  and  com- 


124       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

mentating  assent.     Possibly  I  have  presumed  too 
far " 

The  Bishop  was  already  looking  forward  to 
a  ride  into  the  country  with  his  unusual  novice. 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  said  cheerily.  "In 
a  mere  lay  reader,  a  slight  laxity  is  allowable. 
You  understand,  of  course,  that  you  are  expressly 
restricted  from  the  pulpit.  You  will  have  to  read 
the  lessons,  conduct  the  service,  and  may  address 
the  congregation  upon  matters  not  homiletic  nor 
doctrinal;  preaching  and  actual  entry  into  the 
pulpit  are  defended.  But  I  see  excellent  pos 
sibility  in  you.  Perform  the  duties  punctually 
in  this  very  lowly  office,  and  high  ranks  of  service 
in  the  church  militant  will  be  open." 
j  He  put  on  a  very  fine  shovel-hat,  and  led  the 
way  to  his  large  touring  car. 

It  was  a  very  uncomfortable  ride  for  Gissing.  A 
silk  hat  is  the  least  stable  apparel  for  swift 
motoring,  and  the  chauffeur  drove  at  high  speed. 
The  Bishop,  leaning  back  in  the  open  tonneau, 
crossed  one  delicately  slender  shank  over  another, 
gazed  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy  at  the  countryside, 
and  talked  gaily  about  his  days  as  a  young  curate. 
Gissing  sat  holding  his  hat  on.  He  saw  only  too 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       125 

well  that,  by  the  humiliating  oddity  of  chance, 
they  were  going  to  take  the  road  that  led  exactly 
past  his  own  house.  He  could  only  hope  that 
Mrs.  Spaniel  and  the  various  children  would  not 
be  visible,  for  explanations  would  be  too  compli 
cated.  Desperately  he  praised  the  view  to  be 
obtained  on  another  road,  but  Bishop  Borzoi  was 
too  interested  in  his  own  topic  to  pay  much 
attention. 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  latter,  as  they  drew  near 
the  familiar  region,  "I  must  introduce  you  to 
Miss  Airedale.  She  lives  in  the  big  place  on  the 
hill  over  there.  Her  family  always  used  to  at 
tend  what  I  will  now  call  your  chapel ;  she  is  a 
very  ardent  churchgoer,  and  it  was  a  sincere  grief 
to  her  when  the  place  had  to  be  closed.  You 
will  find  her  a  great  aid  and  comfort;  not  only 
that,  she  is — what  one  does  not  always  find  in 
the  devouter  members  of  her  sex — young  and 
beautiful.  I  think  I  understood  you  to  say  you 
are  a  bachelor?" 

They  were  approaching  the  last  turning  at 
which  it  was  still  possible  to  avoid  the  fatal  road, 
and  Gissing's  attention  was  divided. 

"Yes,  after  a  fashion,"  he  replied.     "Bishop, 


126       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

do  you  know  that  road  down  into  the  valley? 
The  view  is  really  superb — Yes,  that  road — Oh, 
no,  I  am  a  bachelor " 

It  was  too  late.  The  chauffeur,  unconscious  of 
this  private  crisis,  was  spinning  along  the  home 
ward  way.  With  a  tender  emotion  Gissing  saw 
the  spires  of  the  poplar  trees,  the  hemlocks  down 
beyond  the  pond,  the  fringe  of  woods  that  con 
cealed  the  house  until  you  were  quite  upon  it • 

The  car  swerved  suddenly  and  the  driver  only 
saved  it  by  a  quick  and  canny  manoeuvre  from 
going  down  the  bank.  He  came  to  a  stop,  and 
almost  from  underneath  the  rear  wheels  appeared 
a  scuffling  dusty  group  of  youngsters  who  had 
been  playing  in  the  road.  There  they  were — 
Bunks,  Groups,  and  Yelpers  (inordinately 
grown!)  and  two  of  the  Spaniels.  Their  clothes 
were  deplorable,  their  faces  grimed,  their  legs 
covered  with  burrs,  their  whole  demeanour  was 
ragamuffin  and  wild:  yet  Gissing  felt  a  pang  of 
pride  to  see  his  godchildren's  keen,  independent 
bearing  contrasted  with  the  rowdier,  disreputable 
look  of  the  young  Spaniels.  Quickly  he  averted 
his  head  to  escape  recognition.  But  the  urchins 
were  all  gaping  at  the  Bishop's  shovel  hat. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS        127 

"Hot  dog!"  cried  Yelpers.     "Some  hat!" 

To  his  horror,  Gissing  now  saw  Mrs.  Spaniel, 
hastening  in  alarm  down  from  the  house,  spilling 
potatoes  from  her  apron  as  she  ran.  He  hurried 
ly  urged  the  driver  to  proceed. 

"What  terrible  looking  children,"  observed  the 
Bishop,  who  seemed  fascinated  by  their  stare. 
"Really,  my  good  sister,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Spaniel, 
who  was  now  panting  by  the  running  board; 
"you  must  keep  them  off  the  road  or  someone  will 
get  hurt." 

Gissing  was  looking  for  an  imaginary  object 
on  the  floor  of  the  car.  To  his  great  relief  he 
heard  the  roar  of  the  motor  as  they  started  again. 
But  he  sat  up  a  little  too  soon.  A  simultaneous 
roar  of  "Daddy !"  burst  from  the  trio. 

"What  was  that  they  were  shouting  at  us?" 
inquired  the  Bishop,  looking  back. 

Gissing  shook  his  head.  He  was  too  overcome 
to  speak. 


CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

THE  little  chapel  at  Dalmatian  Heights 
sat  upon  a  hill,  among  a  grove  of  pines, 
the  most  romantic  of  all  trees.  Life, 
a  powerful  but  clumsy  dramatist,  does  not  reject 
the  most  claptrap  "situations,"  which  a  sophisti 
cated  playwright  would  discard  as  too  obvious. 
For  this  sandy  plateau,  strewn  with  satiny  pine- 
needles,  was  the  very  horizon  that  had  looked  so 
blue  and  beckoning  from  the  little  house  by  the 
pond.  Not  far  away  was  the  great  Airedale 
estate,  which  Gissing  had  known  only  at  an  ad 
miring  distance — and  now  he  was  living  there  as 
an  honoured  guest. 

The  Bishop  had  taken  him  to  call  upon  the 
Airedales;  and  they,  delighted  that  the  chapel 
was  to  be  re-opened,  had  insisted  upon  his  stay 
ing  with  them.  The  chapel,  in  fact,  was  a  special 
interest  with  Mr.  Airedale,  who  had  been  a  lead 
ing  contributor  toward  its  erection.  *  Gissing  was 
128 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       129 

finding  that  life  seemed  to  be  continually  putting 
him  into  false  positions ;  and  now  he  discovered, 
somewhat  to  his  chagrin,  that  the  lovely  little 
shrine  of  St.  Spitz,  whose  stained  windows  glowed 
like  rubies  in  its  cloister  of  dark  trees,  was  rather 
a  fashionable  hobby  among  the  wealthy  land' 
owners  of  Dalmatian  Hills.  It  had  been  closed 
all  summer,  and  they  had  missed  it.  The  Bishop, 
in  his  airy  and  indefinite  way,  had  not  made  it 
quite  plain  that  Gissing  was  only  a  lay  reader; 
and  in  spite  of  his  embarrassed  disclaimers,  he 
found  himself  introduced  by  Mr.  Airedale  to  the 
country-house  clique  as  the  new  "vicar." 

But  at  any  rate  it  was  lucky  that  the  Airedales 
had  insisted  on  taking  him  in  as  a  guest;  for  he 
had  learned  from  the  Bishop  (just  as  the  latter 
was  leaving)  that  there  was  no  stipend  attached 
to  the  office  of  lay  reader.  Fortunately  he  still 
had  much  of  the  money  he  had  saved  from  his 
salary  as  General  Manager.  And  whatever  sense 
of  anomaly  he  felt  was  quickly  assuaged  by  the 
extraordinary  comfort  and  novelty  of  his  environ 
ment.  In  the  great  Airedale  mansion  he  expe 
rienced  for  the  first  time  that  ultimate  triumph  of 
civilization — a  cup  of  tea  served  in  bed  before 


130       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

breakfast,  with  slices  of  bread-and-butter  of 
tenuous  and  amazing  fragile  thinness.  He  was 
pleased,  too,  with  the  deference  paid  him  as  a 
representative  of  the  cloth,  even  though  it  com 
pelled  him  to  a  solemnity  he  did  not  inwardly  feel. 
But  most  of  all,  undoubtedly,  he  was  captivated 
by  the  loveliness  and  warmth  of  Miss  Airedale. 

The  Bishop  had  not  erred.  Admiring  the  aris 
tocratic  Roman  trend  of  her  brow  and  nose;  the 
proud,  inquisitive  carriage  of  her  somewhat  rec 
tangular  head ;  her  admirable,  vigorous  figure  and 
clear  topaz  eyes,  Gissing  was  aware  of  something 
he  had  not  experienced  before — a  disturbance  both 
urgent  and  agreeable,  in  which  the  intellect  seemed 
to  play  little  part.  He  was  startled  by  the  strength 
of  her  attractiveness,  amazed  to  learn  how  pleas 
ing  it  was  to  be  in  her  company.  She  was  very 
young  and  brisk :  wore  clothes  of  a  smart  sporting 
cut,  and  was  (he  thought)  quite  divine  in  her 
riding  breeches.  But  she  was  also  completely 
devoted  to  the  chapel,  where  she  played  the  music 
on  Sundays.  She  was  a  volatile  creature,  full  of 
mischievous  surprise :  at  their  first  music  practice, 
after  playing  over  some  hymns  on  the  pipe-organ, 
she  burst  into  jazz,  filling  the  quiet  grove  with 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       131 

the  clamorous  syncope  of  Paddy-Paws,  a  favour 
ite  song  that  summer. 

So  into  the  brilliant  social  life  of  the  Airedales 
and  their  friends  he  found  himself  suddenly  pitch 
forked.  In  spite  of  the  oddity  of  the  situation, 
and  of  occasional  anxiety  when  he  considered  the 
possibility  of  Mr.  Poodle  finding  him  out,  he  was 
very  happy.  This  was  not  quite  what  he  had 
expected,  but  he  was  always  adaptable.  Miss 
Airedale  was  an  enchanting  companion.  In  the 
privacy  of  his  bedroom  he  measured  himself  for 
a  pair  of  riding  breeches  and  wrote  to  his  tailor 
in  town  to  have  them  made  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  served  the  little  chapel  assiduously,  though 
he  felt  it  better  to  conceal  from  the  Airedales 
the  fact  that  he  went  there  every  day.  He  sus 
pected  they  would  think  him  slightly  mad  if  they 
knew,  so  he  used  to  pretend  that  he  had  business 
in  town.  Then  he  would  slip  away  to  the  balsam- 
scented  hilltop  and  be  perfectly  happy  sweeping 
the  chapel  floor,  dusting  the  pews,  polishing  the 
brasswork,  rearranging  the  hymnals  in  the  racks. 
He  arranged  with  the  milkman  to  leave  a  bottle 
of  milk  and  some  cinnamon  buns  at  the  chapel 
every  morning,  so  he  had  a  cheerful  and 


132       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

stealthy  little  lunch  in  the  vestry-room,  though 
always  a  trifle  nervous  lest  some  of  his  parish 
ioners  should  discover  him. 

He  practised  reading  the  lessons  aloud  at  the 
brass  lectern,  and  discovered  how  easy  is  dramatic 
elocution  when  you  are  alone.  He  wished  it  were 
possible  to  hold  a  service  daily.  For  the  first 
time  he  was  able  to  sing  hymns  as  loud  as  he 
liked.  Miss  Airedale  played  the  organ  with 
emphatic  fervour,  and  the  congregation,  after  a 
little  hesitation,  enjoyed  the  lusty  sincerity  of  a 
hymn  well  trolled.  Some  of  his  flock,  who  had 
previously  relished  taking  part  in  the  general 
routine  of  the  service,  were  disappointed  by  his 
zeal,  for  Gissing  insisted  on  doing  everything  him 
self.  He  rang  the  bell,  ushered  the  congregation 
to  their  seats,  read  the  service,  recited  the  Quad 
rupeds'  Creed,  led  the  choir,  gave  out  as  many  an 
nouncements  as  he  could  devise,  took  up  the 
collection,  and  at  the  close  skipped  out  through 
the  vestry  and  was  ready  and  beaming  in  the 
porch  before  the  nimblest  worshipper  had  reached 
the  door.  On  his  first  Sunday,  indeed,  he  carried 
enthusiasm  rather  too  far:  in  an  innocent  eager 
ness  to  prolong  the  service  as  much  as  possible, 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       133 

and  being  too  excited  to  realize  quite  what  he  was 
doing,  he  went  through  the  complete  list  of  sup 
plications  for  all  possible  occasions.  The  con 
gregation  were  startled  to  find  themselves  praying 
simultaneously  both  for  rain  and  for  fair 
weather. 

In  a  cupboard  in  the  vestry-room  he  had  found 
an  old  surplice  hanging;  he  took  it  down,  tried  it 
on  before  the  mirror,  and  wistfully  put  it  back. 
To  this  symbolic  vestment  his  mind  returned  as  he 
sat  solitary  under  the  pine-trees,  looking  down 
upon  the  valley  of  home.  It  was  the  season  of 
goldenrod  and  aster  on  the  hillsides :  a  hot  swoon 
ing  silence  lay  upon  the  late  afternoon.  The 
weight  and  closeness  of  the  air  had  struck  even 
the  insects  dumb.  Under  the  pines,  generally 
so  murmurous,  there  was  something  almost  grue 
some  in  the  blank  stillness:  a  suspension  so  ab 
solute  that  the  ears  felt  dull  and  sealed.  He 
tried,  involuntarily,  to  listen  more  clearly,  to 
know  if  this  uncanny  hush  were  really  so.  There 
was  a  sense  of  being  imprisoned,  but  only  most 
delicately,  in  a  spell,  which  some  sudden  cracking 
might  disrupt. 

The  surplice  tempted  him  strongly,  for  it  sug- 


134       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

gested  the  sermon  he  felt  impelled  to  deliver, 
against  the  Bishop's  orders.  For  the  beautiful 
chapel  in  the  piny  glade  was,  somehow,  false:  or, 
at  any  rate,  false  for  him.  The  architect  had 
made  it  a  dainty  poem  in  stone  and  polished 
wood,  but  somehow  God  had  evaded  the  neat  little 
trap.  Moreover,  the  God  his  well-bred  congrega 
tion  worshipped,  the  old  traditionally  imagined 
snow-white  St.  Bernard  with  radiant  jowls  of 
tenderness,  shining  dewlaps  of  love;  paternal, 
omnipotent,  calm — this  deity,  though  sublime  in 
its  way,  was  too  plainly  an  extension  of  their 
own  desires.  His  prominent  parishioners — Mr. 
Dobermann-Pinscher,  Mrs.  Griffon,  Mrs.  Re 
triever;  even  the  delightful  Mr.  Airedale  him 
self — was  it  not  likely  that  they  esteemed  a  deity 
everlastingly  forgiving  because  they  themselves 
felt  need  of  forgiveness?  He  had  been  deeply 
shocked  by  the  docility  with  which  they  followed 
the  codes  of  the  service:  even  when  he  had  com 
mitted  his  blunder  of  the  contradictory  prayers, 
they  had  murmured  the  words  automatically, 
without  protest.  To  the  terrific  solemnities  of 
the  Litany  they  had  made  the  responses  with 
prompt  gabbling  precision,  and  with  a  rapidity 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       135 

that  frankly  implied  impatience  to  take  the  strain 
off  their  knees. 

Somehow  he  felt  that  to  account  for  a  world 
of  unutterable  strangeness  they  had  invented  a 
God  far  too  cheaply  simple.  His  mood  was  cer 
tainly  not  one  of  ribald  easy  scoff.  It  was  they 
(he  assured  himself)  whose  theology  was  essen 
tially  cynical;  not  he.  He  was  a  little  weary  of 
this  just,  charitable,  consoling,  hebdomadal  God; 
this  God  who  might  be  sufficiently  honoured  by  a 
decorously  memorized  ritual.  Yet  was  he  too 
shallow?  Was  it  not  seemly  that  his  fellows, 
bound  on  this  dark,  desperate  venture  of  living, 
should  console  themselves  with  decent  self- 
hypnosis? 

No,  he  thought.  No,  it  was  not  entirely  seemly. 
If  they  pretended  that  their  God  was  the  highest 
thing  knowable,  then  they  must  bring  to  His  wor 
ship  the  highest  possible  powers  of  the  mind.  He 
had  a  strange  yearning  for  a  God  less  lazily  con 
ceived:  a  God  perhaps  inclement,  awful,  master 
of  inscrutable  principles.  Yet  was  it  desirable 
to  shake  his  congregation's  belief  in  their  tradi 
tional  divinity?  He  thought  of  them — so  amiable, 
amusing,  spirited  and  generous,  but  utterly  un- 


136       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

trained  for  abstract  imaginative  thought  on  any 
subject  whatever.  His  own  strange  surmisings 
about  deity  would  only  shock  and  horrify  them, 
And  after  all,  was  it  not  exactly  their  simplicity 
that  made  them  lovable?  The  great  laws  of 
truth  would  work  their  own  destinies  without 
assistance  from  him !  Even  if  these  pleasant 
creatures  did  not  genuinely  believe  the  rites  they 
so  politely  observed  (he  knew  they  did  not,  for 
belief  is  an  intellectual  process  of  extraordinary 
range  and  depth),  was  it  not  socially  useful  that 
they  should  pretend  to  do  so? 

And  yet — with  another  painful  swing  of  the 
mind — was  it  necessary  that  Truth  should  be 
worshipped  with  the  aid  of  such  astonishingly 
transparent  formalisms,  hoaxes,  and  mummeries? 
Alas,  it  seemed  that  this  was  an  old,  old  struggle 
that  must  be  troublesomely  fought  out,  again  and 
again  down  the  generations.  Prophets  were  twice 
stoned — first  in  anger ;  then,  after  their  death, 
with  a  handsome  slab  in  the  graveyard.  But 
words  uttered  in  sincerity  (he  thought)  never  fail 
of  some  response.  Though  he  saw  his  fellows 
leashed  with  a  heavy  chain  of  ignorance,  stupid 
ity,  passion,  and  weakness,  yet  he  divined  in  life 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       137 

some  inscrutable  principle  of  honour  and  justice ; 
some  unreckonable  essence  of  virtue  too  intimate 
to  understand;  some  fumbling  aspiration  toward 
decency,  some  brave  generosity  of  spirit,  some 
cheerful  fidelity  to  Beauty.  He  could  not  see 
how,  in  a  world  so  obviously  vast  and  uncouth  be 
yond  computation,  they  could  find  a  puny,  tidy, 
assumptive,  scheduled  worship  so  satisfying.  But 
perhaps,  since  all  Beauty  was  so  staggering,  it 
was  better  they  should  cherish  it  in  small  formal 
minims.  Perhaps  in  this  whole  matter  there  was 
some  lovely  symbolism  that  he  did  not  under 
stand. 

The  soft  brightness  was  already  lifting  into 
upper  air,  a  mingled  tissue  of  shadows  lay  along 
the  valley.  In  the  magical  clarity  of  the  even 
ing  light  he  suddenly  felt  (as  one  often  does,  by 
unaccountable  planetary  instinct)  that  there  was 
a  new  moon.  Turning,  he  saw  it,  a  silver  snip 
ping  daintily  afloat;  and  not  far  away,  an  early 
star.  He  had  found  no  creed  in  the  prayer-book 
that  accounted  for  the  stars.  Here,  at  the  bot 
tom  of  an  ocean  of  sky,  we  look  aloft  and  see 
them  thick-speckled — mere  barnacles,  perhaps,  on 
the  keel  of  some  greater  ship  of  space.  He  re- 


138       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

membered  how  at  home  there  had  been  a  certain 
burning  twinkle  that  peeped  through  the  screen 
of  the  dogwood  tree.  As  he  moved  on  his  porch,  it 
seemed  to  flit  to  and  fro,  appearing  and  vanish 
ing.  He  was  often  uncertain  whether  it  was  a 
firefly  a  few  yards  away,  or  a  star  the  other  side 
of  Time.  Possibly  Truth  was  like  that. 

There  was  a  light  swift  rustle  behind  him,  and 
Miss  Airedale  appeared. 

"Hullo!"  she  said.  "I  wondered  where  you 
were.  Is  this  how  you  spend  your  afternoons, 
all  alone?" 

Stars,  creeds,  cosmologies,  promptly  receded 
into  remote  perspective  and  had  to  shift  for 
themselves.  It  was  true  that  Gissing  had  some 
what  avoided  her  lately,  for  he  feared  her  fascina 
tion.  He  wished  nothing  else  to  interfere  with 
his  search  for  what  he  had  not  yet  found.  Post 
pone  the  female  problem  to  the  last,  was  his 
theorv:  not  because  it  was  insoluble,  but  because 
the  solution  might  prove  to  be  less  interesting 
than  the  problem  itself.  But  side  by  side  with 
her,  she  was  irresistible.  A  skittish  brightness 
shone  in  her  eyes. 

"Great  news !"  she  exclaimed.     "I've  persuaded 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       139 

Papa  to  take  us  all  down  to  Atlantic  City  for  a 
couple  of  days." 

"Wonderful!"  cried  Gissing.  "Do  you  know, 
I've  never  been  to  the  seashore." 

"Don't  worry,"  she  replied.  "I  won't  let  you 
see  much  of  the  ocean.  We'll  go  to  the  Tray- 
more,  and  spend  the  whole  time  dancing  in  the 
Submarine  Grill." 

"But  I  must  be  back  in  time  for  the  service  on 
Sunday,"  he  said. 

"We're  going  to  leave  first  thing  in  the  morn 
ing.  We'll  go  in  the  car,  and  I'll  drive.  Will 
you  sit  with  me  in  the  front  seat?" 

"Watch  me !"  replied  Gissing  gallantly. 

"Come  on  then,  or  you'll  be  late  for  dinner. 
I'll  race  you  home !"  And  she  was  off  like  a  flash. 

But  in  spite  of  Miss  Airedale's  threat,  at  At 
lantic  City  they  both  fell  into  a  kind  of  dreamy 
reverie.  The  wine-like  tingle  of  that  salty  air 
was  a  quiet  drug.  The  apparently  inexhaustible 
sunshine  was  sharpened  with  a  faint  sting  of 
coming  autumn.  Gissing  suddenly  remembered 
that  it  was  ages  since  he  had  simply  let  his  mind 
run  slack  and  allowed  life  to  go  by  unstudied. 


140       WHERE  THE  BLUE   BEGINS 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Airedale  occupied  a  suite  high  up 
in  the  terraced  mass  of  the  huge  hotel;  they 
wrapped  themselves  in  rugs  and  basked  on  their 
private  balcony.  Gissing  and  the  daughter  were 
left  to  their  own  amusements.  They  bathed  in 
the  warm  September  surf ;  they  strolled  the  Board 
walk  up  beyond  the  old  Absecon  light,  where  the 
green  glimmer  of  water  runs  in  under  the  prom 
enade.  They  sat  on  the  deck  of  the  hotel — or 
rather  Miss  Airedale  sat,  while  Gissing,  courte 
ously  attentive,  leaned  over  her  steamer-chair. 
He  stood  so  for  hours,  apparently  in  devoted 
chat ;  but  in  fact  he  was  half  in  dream.  The 
smooth  flow  of  the  little  rolling  shays  just  below 
had  a  soothing  hypnotic  effect.  But  it  was  the 
glorious  polished  blue  of  the  sea-horizon  that 
bounded  all  his  thoughts.  Even  while  Miss  Aire 
dale  gazed  archly  up  at  him,  and  he  was  busy 
with  cheerful  conversation,  he  was  conscious  of 
that  broad  band  of  perfect  colour,  monotonous, 
comforting,  thrilling.  For  the  first  time  he  re 
alized  the  great  rondure  of  the  world.  His  mind 
went  back  to  the  section  of  the  prayer-book  that 
had  always  touched  him  most  pointedly — the 
"Forms  of  Prayer  to  be  Used  at  Sea."  In  them 


WHERE  THE   BLUE  BEGINS       141 

he  had  found  a  note  of  sincere  terror  and  humil 
ity.  And  now  he  viewed  the  sea  for  the  first 
time  in  this  setting  of  notable  irony.  The  open 
dazzle  of  placid  elements,  obedient  only  to  some 
cosmic  calculus,  lay  as  a  serene  curtain  against 
which  the  quaint  flamboyance  of  the  Boardwalk 
was  all  the  more  amusing.  The  clear  rim  of  sea 
curving  off  into  space  drew  him  with  painful 
curiosity.  Here  at  last  was  what  he  had  needed. 
The  proud  waters  went  over  his  soul.  Here  in 
deed  the  blue  began. 

He  looked  down  at  Miss  Airedale,  who  had 
gone  to  sleep  while  waiting  for  him  to  say  some 
thing.  He  tiptoed  away  and  went  to  his  room  to 
write  down  some  ideas.  Against  the  wide  chal 
lenge  of  that  blue  hemisphere,  where  half  the  world 
lay  open  and  free  to  the  eye,  the  Bishop's  pro 
hibition  lost  weight.  He  was  resolved  to  preach 
a  sermon. 

At  dusk  he  met  Miss  Airedale  on  the  high 
balcony  that  runs  around  the  reading-room  of 
the  hotel.  They  were  quite  alone  up  there. 
Along  the  Boardwalk,  in  the  pale  sentimental  twi 
light,  the  translucent  electric  globes  shone  like  a 
long  string  of  pearls.  She  was  very  tempting  in 


142        WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

a  gay  evening  frock,  and  reproached  him  for  hav 
ing  neglected  her.  She  shivered  a  little  in  the 
cool  wind  coming  off  the  darkening  water.  The 
weakness  of  the  hour  was  upon  him.  He  put  his 
arm  tenderly  round  her  as  they  leaned  over  the 
parapet. 

"See  those  darling  children  down  on  the  sand," 
she  said.  "I  do  adore  puppies,  don't  you?" 

He  remembered  Groups,  Bunks,  and  Yelpers. 
Nothing  is  so  potent  as  the  love  of  children  when 
you  are  away  from  them.  She  gazed  languishing 
at  him ;  he  responded  with  a  generous  pressure. 
But  his  alarmed  soul  thrilled  with  panic. 

"You  must  excuse  me  a  moment,  while  I  dress 
for  dinner,"  he  said.  He  was  strangely  terrified 
by  the  look  of  secret  understanding  in  her  beauti 
ful  eyes.  It  seemed  to  imply  some  subtle,  inex 
pressible  pact.  As  a  matter  of  truth,  she  was 
unconscious  of  it:  it  was  only  the  old  demiurge 
speaking  in  her ;  the  old  demiurge  which  was  pur 
suing  him  just  as  ardently  as  he  was  trailing  the 
dissolving  blue  of  his  dream.  But  he  was  much 
agitated  as  he  went  down  in  the  elevator. 

"Heavens,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "are  we  all  only 
toys  in  the  power  of  these  terrific  instincts?" 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       143 

For  the  first  time  he  was  informed  of  the  infinite 
feminine  capacity  for  being  wooed. 

That  night  they  danced  in  the  Submarine  Grill. 
She  floated  in  his  embrace  with  triumphant  light 
ness.  Her  eyes,  utilized  as  temporary  lamps  by 
a  lighting-circuit  of  which  she  was  quite  unaware, 
beamed  with  happy  lustre.  The  lay  reader, 
always  docile  to  the  necessities  of  occasion,  mur 
mured  delightful  trifles.  But  his  private  thoughts 
were  as  aloof  and  shining  and  evasive  as  the  gold 
fish  that  twinkled  in  the  glass  pool  overhead.  He 
picked  up  her  scarf  and  her  handkerchief  when 
she  dropped  them.  He  smiled  vaguely  when  she 
suggested  that  she  thought  she  could  persuade 
Mr.  Airedale  to  stay  in  Atlantic  City  over  the 
week-end,  and  why  worry  about  the  service  on 
Sunday?  But  when  she  and  the  yawning  Mrs. 
Airedale  had  retired,  he  hastened  to  his  chamber 
and  packed  his  bag.  Stealthily  he  went  to  the 
desk  and  explained  that  he  was  leaving  unex 
pectedly  on  business,  and  that  the  bill  should  go 
to  Mr.  Airedale,  whose  guest  he  had  been.  He 
slipped  away  out  of  the  side  door,  and  caught 
the  late  train.  Mrs.  Airedale  chaffed  her  daugh 
ter  that  night  for  whining  in  her  sleep. 


CHAPTER    TWELVE 

THE  chapel  of  St.  Spitz  was  crowded  that 
fine  Sunday  morning,  and  the  clang  and 
thud  of  its  bells  came  merrily  through 
the  thin  quick  air  to  worshippers  arriving  in  their 
luxurious  motors.  The  amiable  oddity  of  the 
lay  reader's  demeanour  as  priest  had  added  a  zest 
to  churchgoing.  The  congregation  were  partic 
ularly  pleased,  on  this  occasion,  to  see  Gissing  ap 
pear  in  surplice  and  stole.  They  had  felt  that 
his  attire  on  the  previous  Sundays  had  been  a 
little  too  informal.  And  when,  at  the  time  us 
ually  allotted  to  the  sermon,  Gissing  climbed  the 
pulpit  steps,  unfurled  a  sheaf  of  manuscript,  and 
gazed  solemnly  about,  they  settled  back  into  the 
pew  cushions  in  a  comfortable,  receptive  mood. 
They  had  a  subconscious  feeling  that  if  their  souls 
were  to  be  saved,  it  was  better  to  have  it  done 
with  all  the  proper  formalities.  They  did  not 
144 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       145 

notice  that  he  was  rather  pale,  and  that  his  nose 
twitched  nervously. 

"My  friends,"  he  said,  "in  this  beautiful  little 
chapel,  on  this  airy  hilltop,  one  might,  if  any 
where,  speak  with  complete  honesty.  For  you 
who  gather  here  for  worship  are,  in  the  main, 
people  of  great  affairs;  accustomed  to  looking 
at  life  with  high  spirit  and  with  quick  imagina 
tion.  I  will  ask  you  then  to  be  patient  with  me 
while  I  exhort  you  to  carry  into  your  religion 
the  same  enterprising  and  ambitious  gusto  that 
has  made  your  worldly  careers  a  success.  You  are 
accustomed  to  deal  with  great  affairs.  Let  me 
talk  to  you  about  the  Great  Affairs  of  God." 

Gissing  had  been  far  too  agitated  to  be  able  to 
recognize  any  particular  members  of  his  audience. 
All  the  faces  were  fused  into  a  common  blur. 
Miss  Airedale,  he  knew,  was  in  the  organ  loft,  but 
he  had  not  seen  her  since  his  flight  from  Atlantic 
City,  for  he  had  removed  from  the  Airedale  man 
sion  before  her  return,  and  had  made  himself  a 
bed  in  the  corner  of  the  vestry-room.  He  feared 
she  was  angry:  there  had  been  a  vigorous  growl 
ing  note  in  some  of  the  bass  pipes  of  the  orgn  as 
she  played  the  opening  hymn.  He  had  not  seen 


146       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

a  tall  white-haired  figure  who  came  into  the  chapel 
rather  late,  after  the  service  had  begun,  and  took 
a  seat  at  the  back.  Bishop  Borzoi  had  seized  the 
opportunity  to  drive  out  to  Dalmatian  Heights 
this  morning  to  see  how  his  protege  was  getting 
on.  When  the  Bishop  saw  his  lay  reader  appear 
in  surplice  and  scarlet  hood,  he  was  startled.  But 
when  the  amateur  parson  actually  ascended  the 
pulpit,  the  Bishop's  face  was  a  study.  The  hair 
on  the  back  of  his  neck  bristled  slightly. 

"It  is  so  easy,"  Gissing  continued,  "to  let  life 
go  by  us  in  its  swift  amusing  course,  that  some 
times  it  hardly  seems  worth  while  to  attempt  any 
bold  strokes  for  truth.  Truth,  of  course,  does 
not  need  our  assistance;  it  can  afford  to  ignore 
our  errors.  But  in  this  quiet  place,  among  the 
whisper  of  the  trees,  I  seem  to  have  heard  a  dis 
concerting  sound.  I  have  heard  laughter,  and 
I  think  it  is  the  laughter  of  God." 

The  congregation  stirred  a  little,  with  polite 
uneasiness.  This  was  not  quite  the  sort  of  thing 
to  which  they  were  accustomed. 

"Why  should  God  laugh?  I  think  it  is  be 
cause  He  sees  that  very  often,  when  we  pretend 
to  be  worshipping  Him,  we  are  really  worshipping 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       147 

and  gratifying  oiifcselves.  I  used  the  phrase 
'Great  Affairs.'  The  point  I  want  to  make  is 
that  God  deals  with  far  greater  affairs  than  we 
have  realized.  We  have  imagined  Him  on  too 
petty  a  scale.  If  God  is/so  great,  we  must  ap 
proach  Him  in  a  spirit  of  greatness.  He  is  not 
interested  in  trivialities — trivialities  of  ritual,  of 
creed,  of  ceremony.  We  have  imagined  a  vain 
thing — a  God  of  our  own  species ;  merely  adding 
to  the  conception,  to  gild  and  consecrate,  a 
futile  fuzbuz  of  supernaturalism.  My  friends, 
the  God  I  imagine  is  something  more  than  a 
formula  on  Sundays  and  an  oath  during  the 
week." 

Those  sitting  in  the  rear  of  the  Chapel  were 
startled  to  hear  a  low  rumbling  sound  proceeding 
from  the  diaphragm  of  the  Bishop,  who  half  rose 
from  his  seat  and  then,  by  a  great  effort  of  will, 
contained  himself.  But  Gissing,  rapt  in  his 
honourable  speculations,  continued  with  growing 
happiness. 

"I  ask  you,  though  probably  in  vain,  to  lay 
aside  for  the  moment  your  inherited  timidities  and  * 
conventions.     I  ask  you  to  lay  aside  pride,  which 
is  the  devil  itself  and  the  cause  of  most  unhappi- 


148       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

ness.  I  ask  you  to  rise  to  the  height  of  a  great 
conception.  To  'magnify'  God  is  a  common 
phrase  in  our  observances.  Then  let  us  truly 
magnify  Him — not  minify,  as  the  theologians  do. 
If  God  is  anything  more  than  a  social  fetich,  then 
He  must  be  so  much  more  that  He  includes  and 
explains  everything.  It  may  sound  inconceivable 
to  you,  it  may  sound  sacrilegious,  but  I  suggest 
to  you  that  it  is  even  possible  God  may  be  a 
biped " 

The  Bishop  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 
He  rose  with  flaming  eyes  and  stood  in  the  aisle. 
Mr.  Airedale,  Mr.  Dobermann-Pinscher,  and  sev 
eral  other  prominent  members  of  the  Church  burst 
into  threatening  growls.  A  wild  bark  and  clam 
our  broke  from  Mr.  Towser,  the  Sunday  School 
superintendent,  and  his  pupils,  who  sat  in  the 
little  gallery  over  the  door.  And  then,  to  Gis- 
sing's  horror  and  amazement,  Mr.  Poodle  ap 
peared  from  behind  a  pillar  where  he  had  been 
chafing  unseen.  In  a  fierce  tenor  voice  shaken 
with  indignation  he  cried: 

"Heretic  and  hypocrite!  Pay  no  attention  to 
his  abominable  nonsense!  He  deserted  his  family 
to  lead  a  life  of  pleasure!" 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       149 

"Seize  him!"  cried  the  Bishop  in  a  voice  of 
thunder. 

The  church  was  now  in  an  uproar.  A  shrill 
yapping  sounded  among  the  choir.  Mrs.  Aire 
dale  swooned;  the  Bishop's  progress  up  the  aisle 
was  impeded  by  a  number  of  ladies  hastening 
for  an  exit.  Old  Mr.  Dingo,  the  sexton,  seized 
the  bell-rope  in  the  porch  and  set  up  a  furious 
pealing.  Cries  of  rage  mingled  with  hysterical 
howls  from  the  ladies.  Gissing,  trembling  with 
horror,  surveyed  the  atrocious  hubbub.  But  it 
was  high  time  to  move,  or  his  retreat  would  be 
cut  off.  He  abandoned  his  manuscript  and 
bounded  down  the  pulpit  stairs. 

"Unfrock  him!"  yelled  Mr.  Poodle. 

"He's  never  been  f rocked !"  roared  the  Bishop. 

"Impostor !"  cried  Mr.  Airedale. 

"Excommunicate  him!"  screamed  Mr.  Towser. 

"Take  him  before  the  consistory!"  shouted 
Mr.  Poodle. 

Gissing  started  toward  the  vestry  door,  but 
was  delayed  by  the  mass  of  scuffling  choir-puppies 
who  had  seized  this  uncomprehended  diversion 
as  a  chance  to  settle  some  scores  of  their  own. 
The  clamour  was  maddening.  The  Bishop  leapt 


150       WHERE  THE  BLUE   BEGINS 

the  chancel  rail  and  was  about  to  seize  him  when 
Miss  Airedale,  loyal  to  the  last,  interposed. 
She  flung  herself  upon  the  Bishop. 

"Run,  run!"  she  cried.  "They'll  kill  you!" 
Gissing  profited  by  this  assistance.  He 
pushed  over  the  lectern  upon  Mr.  Poodle,  who 
was  clutching  at  his  surplice.  He  checked  Mr. 
Airedale  by  hurling  little  Tommy  Bull,  one  of 
the  choir,  bodily  at  him.  Tommy's  teeth  fas 
tened  automatically  upon  Mr.  Airedale's  ear. 
The  surplice,  which  Mr.  Poodle  was  still  hold 
ing,  parted  with  a  rip,  and  Gissing  was  free. 
With  a  yell  of  defiance  he  tore  through  the  ves 
try  and  round  behind  the  chapel. 

He  could  not  help  pausing  a  moment  to  scan 
the  amazing  scene,  which  had  been  all  Sabbath 
calm  a  few  moments  before.  From  the  long 
line  of  motor  cars  parked  outside  the  chapel 
incredible  chauffeurs  were  leaping,  hurrying  to 
see  what  had  happened.  The  shady  grove  shook 
with  the  hideous  clamour  of  the  bell,  still  wildly 
tolled  by  the  frantic  sexton.  The  sudden  excite 
ment  had  liberated  private  quarrels  long  decently 
repressed :  in  the  porch  Mrs.  Retriever  and  Mrs. 
Dobermann-Pinscher  were  locked  in  combat. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       151 

With  a  splintering  crash  one  of  the  choir-pups 
came  sailing  through  a  stained-glass  window, 
evidently  thrown  by  some  infuriated  adult.  He 
recognized  the  voice  of  Mr.  Towser,  raised  in 
vigorous  lamentation.  To  judge  by  the  sound, 
Mr.  Towser's  pupils  had  turned  upon  him  and 
were  giving  him  a  bad  time.  Above  all  he  could 
hear  the  clear  war-cry  of  Miss  Airedale  and  the 
embittered  yells  of  Mr.  Poodle.  Then  from  the 
quaking  edifice  burst  Bishop  Borzoi,  foaming 
with  wrath,  his  clothes  much  tattered,  and  fol 
lowed  by  Mr.  Poodle,  Mr.  Airedale,  and  several 
others.  They  cast  about  for  a  moment,  and 
then  the  Bishop  saw  him.  With  a  joint  halloo 
they  launched  toward  him. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose.  He  fled  down  the 
shady  path  between  the  trees,  but  with  a  hope 
less  horror  in  his  heart.  He  could  not  long  out 
distance  such  a  runner  as  the  Bishop,  whose 
tremendous  strides  would  surely  overhaul  him 
in  the  end.  If  only  he  had  known  how  to  drive 
a  car,  he  might  have  commandeered  one  of  the 
long  row  waiting  by  the  gate.  But  he  was  no 
motorist.  Miss  Airedale  could  have  saved  him, 
in  her  racing  roadster,  but  she  had  not  emerged 


152       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

from  the  melee  in  the  chapel.  Perhaps  the 
Bishop  had  bitten  her.  His  blood  warmed  with 
anger. 

It  happened  that  they  had  been  mending  the 
county  highways,  and  a  large  steam  roller  stood 
a  few  hundred  feet  down  the  road,  drawn  up 
beside  the  ditch.  Gissing  knew  that  it  was  custo 
mary  to  leave  these  engines  with  the  fire  banked 
and  a  gentle  pressure  of  steam  simmering  in  the 
boiler.  It  was  his  only  chance,  and  he  seized  it. 
But  to  his  dismay,  when  he  reached  the  machine, 
which  lay  just  round  a  bend  in  the  road,  he 
found  it  shrouded  with  a  huge  tarpaulin.  How 
ever,  this  suggested  a  desperate  chance.  He 
whipped  nimbly  inside  the  covering  and  hid  in 
the  coal-box.  Lying  there,  he  heard  the  chase 
go  panting  by. 

As  soon  as  he  dared,  he  climbed  out,  stripped 
off  the  canvas,  and  gazed  at  the  bulky  engine. 
It  was  one  of  those  very  tall  and  impressive 
rollers  with  a  canopy  over  the  top.  The  ma 
chinery  was  not  complicated,  and  the  ingenuity 
of  desperation  spurred  him  on.  Hurriedly  he 
opened  the  draughts  in  the  fire-box,  shook  up 
the  coals,  and  saw  the  needle  begin  to  quiver  on 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       153 

the  pressure-gauge.  He  experimented  with  one 
or  two  levers  and  handles.  The  first  one  he 
touched  let  off  a  loud  scream  from  the  whistle. 
Then  he  discovered  the  throttle.  He  opened 
it  a  few  notches,  cautiously.  The  ponderous 
machine,  with  a  horrible  clanking  and  grinding, 
began  to  move  forward. 

A  steam  roller  may  seem  the  least  helpful  of 
all  vehicles  in  which  to  conduct  an  urgent  flight ; 
but  Gissing's  reasoning  was  sound.  In  the  first 
place,  no  one  would  expect  to  find  a  hunted 
fugitive  in  this  lumbering,  sluggish  behemoth  of 
the  road.  Secondly,  sitting  perched  high  up  in 
the  driving  saddle,  right  under  the  canopy,  he 
was  not  easily  seen  by  the  casual  passer-by. 
And  thirdly,  if  the  pursuit  came  to  close  grips, 
he  was  still  in  a  strategic  position.  For  this, 
the  most  versatile  of  all  land-machines  except 
the  military  tank,  can  move  across  fields,  crash 
through  underbrush,  and  travel  in  a  hundred 
places  that  would  stall  a  motor  car.  He  rumbled 
off  down  the  road  somewhat  exhilarated.  He 
found  the  scarlet  stole  twisted  round  his  neck, 
and  tied  it  to  one  of  the  stanchions  of  the  canopy 
as  a  flag  of  defiance. 


154       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

It  was  not  long  before  he  saw  the  posse  of 
pursuit  returning  along  the  road,  very  hot  and 
angry.  He  crunched  along  solemnly,  busying 
himself  to  get  up  a  strong  head  of  steam.  There 
they  were,  the  Bishop,  Mr.  Poodle,  Mr.  Airedale, 
Mr.  Dobermann-Pinscher,  and  Mr.  Towser.  Mr. 
Poodle  was  talking  excitedly :  the  Bishop's  tongue 
ran  in  and  out  over  his  gleaming  teeth.  He 
was  not  saying  much,  but  his  manner  was  full 
of  deadly  wrath.  They  paid  no  attention  to  the 
roller,  and  were  about  to  pass  it  without  even 
looking  up,  when  Gissing,  in  a  sudden  fit  of  in 
dignation,  gave  the  wheel  a  quick  twirl  and 
turned  his  clumsy  engine  upon  them.  They 
escaped  only  by  a  hair's  breadth  from  being  flat 
tened  out  like  pastry.  Then  the  Bishop,  looking 
up,  recognized  the  renegade.  With  a  cry  of 
anger  they  all  leaped  at  the  roller. 

But  he  was  so  high  above  them,  they  had  no 
chance.  He  seized  the  coal-scoop  and  whanged 
Mr.  Poodle  across  the  skull.  The  Bishop  came 
dangerously  near  reaching  him,  but  Gissing  re 
leased  a  jet  of  scalding  steam  from  an  exhaust- 
cock,  which  gave  the  impetuous  prelate  much 
cause  for  grief.  A  lump  of  coal,  accurately 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       155 

thrown,  discouraged  Mr.  Airedale.  Mr.  Towser, 
attacking  on  the  other  side  of  the  engine,  man 
aged  to  scramble  up  so  high  that  he  carried  away 
the  embroidered  stole,  but  otherwise  the  fugitive 
had  all  the  best  of  it.  Mr.  Dobermann-Pinscher 
burned  his  feet  trying  to  climb  up  the  side  of  the 
boiler.  From  the  summit  of  his  uncouth  vehicle 
Gissing  looked  down  undismayed. 

"Miserable  freethinker!"  said  Borzoi.  "You 
shall  be  tried  by  the  assembly  of  bishops." 

"In  a  mere  lay  reader,"  quoted  Gissing,  "a 
slight  laxity  is  allowable.  You  had  better  go 
back  and  calm  down  the  congregation,  or  they'll 
tear  the  chapel  to  bits.  This  kind  of  thing  will 
have  a  very  bad  influence  on  church  discipline." 

They  shouted  additional  menace,  but  Gissing 
had  already  started  his  deafening  machinery  and 
could  not  hear  what  was  said.  He  left  them 
bickering  by  the  roadside. 

For  fear  of  further  pursuit,  he  turned  off 
the  highway  a  little  beyond,  and  rumbled  noisily 
down  a  rustic  lane  between  high  banks  and  hedges 
where  sumac  was  turning  red.  Strangely  enough, 
there  was  something  very  comforting  about  his 
enormous  crawling  contraption.  It  was  docile 


156       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

and  reliable,  like  an  elephant.  The  crashing 
clangour  of  its  movement  was  soon  forgotten — 
became,  in  fact,  an  actual  stimulus  to  thought. 
For  the  mere  pleasure  of  novelty,  he  steered 
through  a  copse,  and  took  joy  in  seeing  the 
monster  thrash  its  way  through  thickets  and 
brambles,  and  then  across  a  field  of  crackling 
stubble.  Steering  toward  the  lonelier  regions 
of  that  farming  country,  presently  he  halted  in 
a  dingle  of  birches  beside  a  small  pond.  He 
spent  some  time  very  happily,  carefully  studying 
the  machinery.  He  found  some  waste  and  an  oil 
can  in  the  tool-chest,  and  polished  until  the 
metal  shone.  The  water  looked  rather  low  in  the 
gauge,  and  he  replenished  it  from  the  pool. 

It  was  while  grooming  the  roller  that  it  struck 
him  his  own  appearance  was  unusual  for  a  high 
way  mechanic.  He  was  still  wearing  the  famous 
floorwalker  suit,  which  he  had  punctiliously 
donned  every  Sunday  for  chapel.  But  he  had 
had  to  flee  without  a  hat — even  without  his  lug 
gage,  which  was  neatly  packed  in  a  bag  in  the 
vestry.  That,  he  felt  sure,  Mr.  Poodle  had  al 
ready  burst  open  for  evidences  of  heresy  and 
schism.  The  pearly  trousers  were  stained  with 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       157 

oil  and  coal-dust ;  the  neat  cutaway  coat  bore 
smears  of  engine-grease.  As  long  as  he  stuck 
to  the  roller  and  the  telltale  garments,  pursuit 
and  identification  would  of  course  be  easy  enough. 
But  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  machine:  he 
decided  not  to  abandon  it  yet. 

Obviously  it  was  better  to  keep  to  the  roads, 
where  the  engine  would  at  any  rate  be  less  sur 
prisingly  conspicuous,  and  where  it  would  leave 
no  trail.  So  he  made  a  long  circuit  across  mead 
ows  and  pastures,  carrying  a  devilish  clamour  into 
the  quiet  Sunday  afternoon.  Regaining  a  mac 
adam  surface,  he  set  off  at  random,  causing 
considerable  annoyance  to  the  motoring  public. 
Finding  that  his  cutaway  coat  caused  jeers  and 
merriment,  he  removed  it ;  and  when  any  one 
showed  a  disposition  to  inquire,  he  explained 
that  he  was  doing  penance  for  an  ill-judged 
wager.  His  oscillating  perch  above  the  boiler 
was  extraordinarily  warm,  and  he  bought  a  gal 
lon  jug  of  cider  from  a  farmer  by  the  way. 
Cheering  himself  with  this,  and  reviewing  in  his 
mind  the  queer  experiences  of  the  past  months, 
he  went  thundering  mildly  on. 

At  first  he  had  feared  a  furious  pursuit  on  the 


158       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

part  of  the  Bishop,  or  even  a  whole  college  of 
bishops,  quickly  mobilized  for  the  event.  He 
had  imagined  them  speeding  after  him  in  a  huge 
motor-bus,  and  himself  keeping  them  at  bay  with 
lumps  of  coal.  But  gradually  he  realized  that 
the  Bishop  would  not  further  jeopardize  his 
dignity,  or  run  the  risk  of  making  himself  ridicu 
lous.  Mr.  Poodle  would  undoubtedly  set  the 
township  road  commissioner  on  his  trail,  and 
he  would  be  liable  to  seizure  for  the  theft  of  a 
steam  roller.  But  that  could  hardly  happen  so 
quickly.  In  the  meantime,  a  plan  had  been  form 
ing  in  his  mind,  but  it  would  require  darkness 
for  its  execution. 

Darkness  did  not  delay  in  coming.  As  he 
jolted  cheerfully  from  road  to  road,  holding  up 
long  strings  of  motors  at  every  corner  while  he 
jovially  held  out  his  arm  as  a  sign  that  he  was 
going  to  turn,  dark  purple  clouds  were  massing 
and  piling  up.  Foreseeing  a  storm,  he  bought 
some  provisions  at  a  roadhouse,  and  turned  into 
a  field,  where  he  camped  in  the  lee  of  a  forest  of 
birches.  He  cooked  himself  an  excellent  sup 
per,  toasting  bread  f  and  frankfurters  in  the  fire 
box  of  the  roller.  With  boiling  water  from  a 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       159 

steam-cock  he  brewed  a  panikin  of  tea ;  and  sat 
placidly  admiring  the  fawn-pink  light  on  wide 
pampas  of  bronze  grasses,  tawny  as  a  panther's 
hide.  A  strong  wind  began  to  draw  from  the 
southeast.  He  lit  the  lantern  at  the  rear  of 
the  machine  and  by  the  time  the  rain  came  hiss 
ing  upon  the  hot  boiler,  he  was  ready.  Luckily 
he  had  saved  the  tarpaulin.  He  spread  this  on 
the  ground  underneath  the  roller,  and  curled  up 
in  it.  The  glow  from  the  firebox  kept  him  warm 
and  dry. 

"Summer  is  over,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
heard  the  clash  and  spouting  of  rain  all  about 
him.  He  lay  for  some  time,  not  sleepy,  thinking 
theology,  and  enjoying  the  close  tumult  of  wind 
and  weather. 

People  who  have  had  an  arm  or  a  leg  ampu 
tated,  he  reflected,  say  they  can  still  feel  pains 
in  the  absent  member.  Well,  there's  an  analogy 
in  that.  Modern  skepticism  has  amputated  God 
from  the  heart ;  but  there  is  still  a  twinge  where 
the  arteries  were  sewn  up. 

He  slept  peacefully  until  about  two  in  the 
morning,  except  when  a  red-hot  coal,  slipping 
through  the  grate-bars,  burned  a  lamentable  hole 


160       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

in  his  trousers.  When  he  woke,  the  night  still 
dripped,  but  was  clear  aloft.  He  started  the 
engine  and  drove  cautiously,  along  black  slippery 
roads,  to  Mr.  Poodle's  house.  In  spite  of  the 
unavoidable  racket,  no  one  stirred:  he  surmised 
that  the  curate  slept  soundly  after  the  crises  of 
the  day.  He  left  the  engine  by  the  doorstep, 
pinning  a  note  to  the  steering-wheel.  It  said : 

TO     REV.     J.     ROVER     POODLE 

this  useful  steam-roller 
as  a  symbol  of  the  theological  mind 

MR.   GISSINQ 


CHAPTER    THIRTEEN 

THE  steamship  Pomerania,  which  had 
sailed  at  noon,  was  a  few  hours  out  of 
port  on  a  calm  gray  sea.  The  passengers, 
after  the  bustle  of  lunch  and  arranging  their 
staterooms,  had  settled  into  their  deck  chairs 
and  were  telling  each  other  how  much  they  loved 
the  ocean.  Captain  Scottie  had  taken  his  after 
noon  constitutional  on  his  private  strip  of  star 
board  deck  just  aft  the  bridge,  and  was  sitting  in 
his  comfortable  cabin  expecting  a  cup  of  tea. 
He  was  a  fine  old  sea-dog:  squat,  grizzled,  severe, 
with  wiry  eyebrows,  a  short  coarse  beard,  and 
watchful  quick  eyes.  A  characteristic  Scot,  be 
neath  his  reticent  conscientious  dignity  there  was 
abundant  humour  and  affection.  He  would  have 
been  recognized  anywhere  as  a  sailor:  those  short 
solid  legs  were  perfectly  adapted  for  balancing 
on  a  rolling  deck.  He  stood  by  habit  as  though 
he  were  leaning  into  a  stiff  gale.  His  mouth  al- 
161 


162       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

ways  held  a  pipe,  which  he  smoked  in  short,  brisk 
whiffs,  as  though  expecting  to  be  interrupted  at 
any  moment  by  an  iceberg. 

The  steward  brought  in  the  tea-tray,  and 
Captain  Scottie  settled  into  his  large  armchair 
to  enjoy  it.  His  eye  glanced  automatically  at 
the  barometer. 

"A  little  wind  to-night,"  he  said,  his  nose 
wrinkling  unconsciously  as  the  cover  was  lifted 
from  the  dish  of  hot  anchovy  toast. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  steward,  but  lingered,  ap 
parently  anxious  to  speak  further. 

"Well,  Shepherd?" 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  the  Chief  Steward  wanted 
me  to  say  they've  found  someone  stowed  away 
in  the  linen  locker,  sir.  Queer  kind  of  fellow, 
sir,  talks  a  bit  like  a  padre.  'E  must've  come 
aboard  by  the  engine-room  gangway,  sir,  and 
climbed  into  that  locker  near  the  barber  shop." 

The  problem  of  stowaways  is  familiar  enough 
to  shipmasters.  "Send  him  up  to  me,"  said  the 
Captain. 

A  few  minutes  later  Gissing  appeared,  escorted 
by  a  burly  quartermaster.  Even  the  experienced 
Captain  admitted  to  himself  that  this  was  some- 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       163 

thing  new  in  the  category  of  stowaways.  Never 
before  had  he  seen  one  in  a  braided  cutaway 
coat  and  wedding  trousers.  It  was  true  that  the 
garments  were  in  grievous  condition,  but  they 
were  worn  with  an  air.  The  stowaway's  face 
showed  some  embarrassment,  but  not  at  all  the 
usual  hangdog  mien  of  such  wastrels.  Involun 
tarily  his  tongue  moistened  when  he  saw  the  tray 
of  tea  (for  he  had  not  eaten  since  his  supper  on 
the  steam  roller  the  night  before),  but  he  kept 
his  eyes  politely  averted  from  the  food.  They 
rose  to  a  white-painted  girder  that  ran  athwart 
the  cabin  ceiling.  CERTIFIED  TO  ACCOMMODATE 
THE  MASTER  he  read  there,  in  letters  deeply  in 
cised  into  the  thick  paint.  "A  good  Christian 
ship,"  he  said  to  himself.  "It  sounds  like  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A."  He  was  pleased  to  think  that  his 
suspicion  was  already  confirmed :  ships  were  more 
religious  than  anything  on  land. 

The  Captain  dismissed  the  quartermaster,  and 
addressed  himself  sternly  to  the  culprit. 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?" 
"Please,  Captain,"  said   Gissing  politely,  "do 
not  allow  your  tea  to  get  cold.     I  can  talk  while 
vou  eat." 


164       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

Behind  his  grim  demeanour  the  Captain  was 
very  near  to  smiling  at  this  naivete.  No  Briton 
is  wholly  implacable  at  tea-time,  and  he  felt  a 
genuine  curiosity  about  this  unusual  offender. 

"What  was  your  idea  in  coming  aboard?"  he 
said.  "Do  you  know  that  I  can  put  you  in  irons 
until  we  get  across,  and  then  have  you  sent  home 
for  punishment?  I  suppose  it's  the  old  story: 
you  want  to  go  sight-seeing  on  the  other  side?" 

"No,  Captain,"  said  Gissing.  "I  have  come  to 
sea  to  study  theology." 

In  spite  of  himself  the  Captain  was  touched  by 
this  amazing  statement.  He  was  a  Scot,  as  we 
have  said.  He  poured  a  cup  of  tea  to  conceal 
his  astonishment. 

"Theology!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  theology  of 
hard  work  is  what  you  will  find  most  of  aboard 
ship.  Carry  on  and  do  your  duty;  keep  a  sharp 
lookout,  all  gear  shipshape,  salute  the  bridge  when 
going  on  watch,  that  is  the  whole  duty  of  a  good 
officer.  That's  plenty  theology  for  a  seaman." 
But  the  skipper's  eye  turned  brightly  toward  his 
bookshelves,  where  he  had  several  volumes  of 
sermons,  mostly  of  a  Calvinist  sort. 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  work,"  said  Gissing.    "But 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       165 

I'm  looking  for  horizons.  In  my  work  ashore 
I  never  could  find  any." 

"Your  horizon  is  likely  to  be  peeling  potatoes 
in  the  galley,"  remarked  the  Captain.  "I  under 
stand  they  are  short-handed  there.  Or  sweeping 
out  bunks  in  the  steerage.  Ethics  of  the  dust! 
What  would  you  say  to  that?" 

"Sir,"  replied  Gissing,  "I  shall  be  grateful  for 
any  task,  however  menial,  that  permits  me  to 
meditate.  I  understand  your  point  of  view.  By 
coming  aboard  your  ship  I  have  broken  the  law, 
I  have  committed  a  crime ;  but  not  a  sin.  Crime 
and  sin,  every  theologian  admits,  are  not  co 
extensive." 

The  Captain  sailed  head-on  into  argument. 

"What?"  he  cried.  "Are  you  aware  of  the 
doctrine  of  Moral  Inability  in  a  Fallen  State? 
Sit  down,  sit  down,  and  have  a  cup  of  tea.  We 
must  discuss  this." 

He  rang  for  the  steward  and  ordered  an  extra 
cup  and  a  fresh  supply  of  toast.  At  that  mo 
ment  Gissing  heard  two  quick  strokes  of  a  bell, 
rung  somewhere  forward,  a  clear,  musical,  mel 
ancholy  tone,  echoed  promptly  in  other  parts  of 
the  ship. 


1G6        WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"What  is  that,  Captain?"  he  asked  anxiously. 
"An  accident?" 

"Two  bells  in  the  first  dog-watch,"  said  the 
Captain.  "I  fear  you  are  as  much  a  lubber  at 
sea  as  you  are  in  theology." 

The  next  two  hours  passed  like  a  flash.  Gis- 
sing  found  the  skipper,  in  spite  of  his  occasional 
moods  of  austerity,  a  delicious  companion.  They 
discussed  Theosophy,  Spiritualism,  and  Christian 
Science,  all  of  which  the  Captain,  with  sturdy  but 
rather  troubled  vehemence,  linked  with  Primitive 
Magic.  Gissing,  seeing  that  his  only  hope  of 
establishing  himself  in  the  sailor's  regard  was  to 
disagree  and  keep  the  argument  going,  plunged 
into  psycho-analysis  and  the  philosophy  of  the 
unconscious.  Rather  unwarily  he  ventured  to 
introduce  a  nautical  illustration  into  the 
talk. 

"Your  compass  needle,"  he  said,  "points  to 
the  North  Pole,  and  although  it  has  never  been 
to  the  Pole,  and  cannot  even  conceive  of  it,  yet  it 
testifies  irresistibly  to  the  existence  of  such  a 
place." 

"I  trust  you  navigate  your  soul  more  skilfully 
than  you  would  navigate  this  vessel,"  retorted 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       167 

the  Captain.  "In  the  first  place,  the  needle  does 
not  point  to  the  North  Pole  at  all,  but  to  the 
magnetic  pole.  Furthermore,  it  has  to  be  ad 
justed  by  magnets  to  counteract  deviation.  Mr. 
Gissing,  you  may  be  a  sincere  student  of  theology, 
but  you  have  not  allowed  for  your  own  tempera 
mental  deviation.  Why,  even  the  gyro  compass 
has  to  be  adjusted  for  latitude  error.  You 
landsmen  think  that  a  ship  is  simply  a  floating 
hotel.  I  should  like  to  have  the  Bishop  you 
spoke  of  study  a  little  navigation.  That  would 
put  into  him  a  healthy  respect  for  the  marvels 
of  science.  On  board  ship,  sir,  the  binnacle  is 
kept  locked  and  the  key  is  on  the  watch-chain  of 
the  master.  It  should  be  so  in  all  intellectual 
matters.  Confide  them  to  those  capable  of  un 
derstanding." 

Gissing  saw  that  the  Captain  greatly  relished 
his  sense  of  superiority,  so  he  made  a  remark  of 
intentional  simplicity. 

"The  binnacle?"  he  said.  "I  thought  that  was 
the  little  shellfish  that  clings  to  the  bottom  of  the 
boat?" 

"Don't  you  dare  call  my  ship  a  boat!"  said  the 
Captain.  "At  sea,  a  boat  means  only  a  lifeboat 


168       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

or  some  other  small  vagabond  craft.  Come  out 
on  the  bridge  and  I'll  show  you  a  thing  or  two." 

The  evening  had  closed  in  hazy,  and  the  Pom- 
erania  swung  steadily  in  a  long  plunging  roll. 
At  the  weather  wing  of  the  bridge,  gazing  sharply 
over  the  canvas  dodger,  was  Mr.  Pointer,  the 
vigilant  Chief  Officer,  peering  off  rigidly,  as 
though  mesmerized,  but  saying  nothing.  He  gave 
the  Captain  a  courteous  salute,  but  kept  silence. 
At  the  large  mahogany  wheel,  gently  steadying 
it  to  the  quarterly  roll  of  the  sea,  stood  Dane,  a 
tall,  solemn  quartermaster.  In  spite  of  a  little 
uneasiness,  due  to  the  unfamiliar  motion,  Gissing 
was  greatly  elated  by  the  wheelhouse,  which 
seemed  even  more  thrillingly  romantic  than  any 
pulpit.  Uncomprehendingly,  but  with  admira 
tion,  he  examined  the  binnacle,  the  engine-room 
telegraphs,  the  telephones,  the  rack  of  signal- 
flags,  the  buttons  for  closing  the  bulkheads,  and 
the  rotating  clear-view  screen  for  lookout  in 
thick  weather.  Aloft  he  could  see  the  masthead 
light,  gently  soaring  in  slow  arcs. 

"I'll  show  you  my  particular  pride,"  said  the 
Captain,  evidently  pleased  by  his  visitor's  de- 
1  lighted  enthusiasm. 


_ 

WHERE  THE   BLUE  BEGINS       169 

Gissing  wondered  what  ingenious  device  of 
science  this  might  be. 

Captain  Scottie  stepped  to  the  weather  gun 
wale  of  the  bridge.  He  pointed  to  the  smoke, 
which  was  rolling  rapidly  from  the  funnels. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "there's  quite  a  strong 
breeze  blowing.  But  look  here." 

He  lit  a  match  and  held  it  unshielded  above 
the  canvas  screen  which  was  lashed  along  the 
front  of  the  bridge.  To  Gissing's  surprise  it 
burned  steadily,  without  blowing  out. 

"I've  invented  a  convex  wind-shield  which  splits 
the  air  just  forward  of  the  bridge.  I  can  stand 
here  and  light  my  pipe  in  the  stiffest  gale,  with 
out  any  trouble." 

On  the  decks  below  Gissing  heard  a  bugle  blow 
ing  gaily,  a  bright,  persuasive  sound. 

"Six  bells,"  the  Captain  said.  "I  must  dress 
for  dinner.  Before  I  start  you  potato-peeling, 
I  should  like  to  clear  up  that  little  discussion  of 
ours  about  Free  Will.  One  or  two  things  you 
said  interested  me." 

He  paced  the  bridge  for  a  minute,  thinking 
hard. 

"I'll  test  your  sincerity,"  he  said.     "To-night 


170       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

you  can  bunk  in  the  chart-room.  I'll  have  some 
dinner  sent  up  to  you.  I  wish  you  would  write 
me  an  essay  of,  say,  two  thousand  words  on  the 
subject  of  Necessity." 

For  a  moment  Gissing  pondered  whether  it 
would  not  be  better  to  be  put  in  irons  and 
rationed  with  bread  and  water.  The  wind  was 
freshening,  and  the  Pomeranians  sharp  bow  slid 
heavily  into  broad  hills  of  sea,  crashing  them 
into  crumbling  rollers  of  suds  which  fell  outward 
and  hissed  along  her  steep  sides.  The  silent  Mr. 
Pointer  escorted  him  into  the  chart-room,  a  bare, 
businesslike  place  with  a  large  table,  a  map- 
cabinet,  and  a  settee.  Here,  presently,  a  stew 
ard  appeared  with  excellent  viands,  and  a  pen, 
ink,  and  notepaper.  After  a  cautious  meal,  Gis 
sing  felt  more  comfortable.  There  is  something 
about  a  wet,  windy  evening  at  sea  that  turns  the 
mind  naturally  toward  metaphysics.  He  pushed 
away  the  dishes  and  began  to  write. 

Later  in  the  evening  the  Captain  reappeared. 
He  looked  pleased  when  he  saw  a  number  of 
sheets  already  covered  with  script. 

"Rum  lot  of  passengers  this  trip,"  he  said. 
"I  don't  seem  to  see  any  who  look  interesting. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       171 

All  Big  Business  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  must 
say  it's  nice  to  have  someone  who  can  talk  about 
books,  and  so  on,  once  in  a  while." 

Gissing  realized  that  sometimes  a  shipmaster's 
life  must  be  a  lonely  one.  The  weight  of  re 
sponsibility  is  always  upon  him ;  etiquette  pre 
vents  his  becoming  familiar  with  his  officers ;  small 
wonder  if  he  pines  occasionally  for  a  little  con 
genial  talk  to  relieve  his  mind. 

"Big  Business,  did  you  say?"  Gissing  remarked. 
"Ah,  I  could  write  you  quite  an  essay  about  that. 
I  used  to  be  General  Manager  of  Beagle  and  Com 
pany." 

"Come  into  my  cabin  and  have  a  liqueur,"  said 
the  skipper.  "Let  the  essay  go  until  to-morrow." 

The  Captain  turned  on  the  electric  stove  in 
his  cabin,  for  the  night  was  cold.  It  was  a  snug 
sanctum:  at  the  portholes  were  little  chintz  cur 
tains  ;  over  the  bunk  was  a  convenient  reading 
lamp.  On  the  wall  a  brass  pendulum  swung 
slowly,  registering  the  roll  of  the  ship.  The 
ruddy  shine  of  the  stove  lit  up  the  orderly  desk 
and  the  photographs  of  the  Captain's  family. 

"Yours?"  said  Gissing,  looking  at  a  group  of 
three  puppies  with  droll  Scottish  faces. 


172       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"Aye,"  said  the  Captain. 

"I've  three  of  my  own,"  said  Gissing,  with  a 
private  pang  of  homesickness.  The  skipper's 
cosy  quarters  were  the  most  truly  domestic  he 
had  seen  since  the  evening  he  first  fled  from  re 
sponsibility. 

Captain  Scottie  was  surprised.  Certainly  this 
eccentric  stranger  in  the  badly  damaged  wedding 
garments  had  not  given  the  impression  of  a 
family  head.  Just  then  the  steward  entered  with 
a  decanter  of  benedictine  and  small  glasses. 

"Braw  days  and  bonny!"  said  the  Captain, 
raising  his  crystal. 

"Secure  amidst  perils!"  replied  Gissing  court 
eously.  It  was  the  phrase  engraved  upon  the 
ship's  notepaper,  on  which  he  had  been  writing, 
and  it  had  impressed  itself  on  his  mind. 

"You  said  you  had  been  a  General  Manager." 

Gissing  told,  with  some  vivacity,  of  his  expe 
riences  in  the  world  of  trade.  The  Captain  poured 
another  small  liqueur. 

"They're  fine  halesome  liquor,"  he  said. 

"Sincerely  yours,"  said  Gissing,  nodding  over 
the  glass.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  quite  at  home 
in  the  navigating  quarters  of  the  ship,  and  hoped 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       173 

the  potato-peeling  might  be  postponed  as  long  as 
possible. 

"How  far  had  you  got  in  your  essay?"  asked 
the  Captain. 

"Not  very  far,  I  fear.  I  was  beginning  by 
laying  down  a  few  psychological  fundamentals." 

"Excellent !     Will  you  read  it  to  me?" 

Gissing  went  to  get  his  manuscript,  and  read 
it  aloud.  The  Captain  listened  attentively,  puff 
ing  clouds  of  smoke. 

"I  am  sorry  this  is  such  a  short  voyage,"  he 
said  when  Gissing  finished.  "You  have  ap 
proached  the  matter  from  an  entirely  nai'f  and  in 
stinctive  standpoint,  and  it  will  take  some  time  to 
show  you  your  errors.  Before  I  demolish  your 
arguments  I  should  like  to  turn  them  over  in 
my  mind.  I  will  reduce  my  ideas  to  writing  and 
then  read  them  to  you." 

"I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  Gissing. 
"And  I  can  think  over  the  subject  more  carefully 
while  I  peel  the  potatoes." 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  Captain.  "I  do  not  often 
get  a  chance  to  discuss  theology.  I  will  tell  you 
my  idea.  You  spoke  of  your  experience  as  Gen 
eral  Manager,  when  you  had  charge  of  a  thousand 


174       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

employees.  One  of  the  things  we  need  on  this 
ship  is  a  staff-captain,  to  take  over  the  manage 
ment  of  the  personnel.  That  would  permit  me  to 
concentrate  entirely  on  navigation.  In  a  vessel 
of  this  size  it  is  wrong  that  the  master  should 
have  to  carry  the  entire  responsibility." 

He  rang  for  the  steward. 

"My  compliments  to  Mr.  Pointer,  and  tell  him 
to  come  here." 

Mr.  Pointer  appeared  shortly  in  oilskins, 
saluted,  and  gazed  fixedly  at  his  superior,  with 
one  foot  raised  upon  the  brass  door-sill. 

"Mr.  Pointer,"  said  Captain  Scottie,  "I  have 
appointed  Captain  Gissing  staff-captain.  Take 
orders  from  him  as  you  would  from  me.  He  will 
have  complete  charge  of  the  ship's  discipline." 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pointer,  stood  a  mo 
ment  intently  to  see  if  there  were  further  orders, 
saluted  again,  and  withdrew. 

"Now  you  had  better  turn  in,"  said  the  skipper. 
"Of  course  you  must  wear  uniform.  I'll  send  the 
tailor  up  to  you  at  once.  He  can  remodel  one 
of  my  suits  overnight.  The  trousers  will  have 
to  be  lengthened." 

On   the   chart-room    sofa,   Gissing   dozed    and 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       175 

waked  and  dozed  again.  On  the  bridge  near  by  he 
heard  the  steady  tread  of  feet,  the  mysterious 
words  of  the  officer  on  watch  passing  the  course 
to  his  relief.  Bells  rang  with  sharp  double  clang. 
Through  the  open  port  he  could  hear  the  alter 
nate  boom  and  hiss  of  the  sea  under  the  bows. 
With  the  stately  lift  and  lean  of  the  ship  there 
mingled  a  faint  driving  vibration. 


CHAPTER    FOURTEEN 

THE  first  morning  in  any  new   environ 
ment  is  always  tlie  most  exciting.     Gis- 
sing  was   already   awake,   and  watching 
the  novel  sight  of  a  patch  of  sunshine  sliding  to 
and   fro   on  the  deck   of   the   chart-room,  when 
there    was    a    gentle    tap    at    the    door.     The 
Captain's    steward    entered,    carrying    a    hand 
some  uniform. 

"Six  bells,  sir,"  he  said.     "Your  bath  is  laid 
on." 

Gissing  was  not  very  sure  just  what  time  it  was, 
but  the  steward  held  out  a  dressing  gown  for  him 
to  slip  on,  so  he  took  the  hint,  and  followed  him 
to  the  Captain's  private  bathroom  where  he 
plunged  gaily  into  warm  salt  water.  He  was 
hardly  dressed  before  breakfast  was  laid  for  him 
in  the  chart-room.  It  was  a  breakfast  greatly 
to  his  liking — porridge,  scrambled  eggs,  grilled 
kidneys  and  bacon,  coffee,  toast,  and  marmalade. 
176 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       177 

Evidently  the  hardships  of  sea  life  had  been 
greatly  exaggerated  by  fiction  writers. 

He  was  a  trifle  bashful  about  appearing  on  the 
bridge  in  his  blue  and  brass  formality,  and  waited 
a  while  thinking  Captain  Scottie  might  come.  But 
no  one  disturbed  him,  so  by  and  bye  he  went  out. 
It  was  a  brisk  morning  with  a  fresh  breeze  and 
plenty  of  whitecaps.  Dancing  rainbows  hovered 
about  the  bow  when  an  occasional  explosion  of 
spray  burst  up  into  sunlight.  Mr.  Pointer  was 
on  the  bridge,  still  gazing  steadily  into  the  dis 
tance.  He  saluted  Gissing,  but  said  nothing. 
The  quartermaster  at  the  wheel  also  saluted  in 
silence.  A  seaman  wiping  down  the  paintwork  on 
the  deckhouse  saluted.  Gissing  returned  these 
gestures  punctiliously,  and  began  to  pace  the 
bridge  from  side  to  side.  He  soon  grew  accus 
tomed  to  the  varying  slant  of  the  deck,  and  felt 
that  his  footing  showed  a  nautical  assurance. 

Now  for  the  first  time  he  enjoyed  an  untram 
melled  horizon  on  all  sides.  The  sea,  he  observed, 
was  not  really  blue — not  at  any  rate  the  blue  he 
had  supposed.  Where  it  seethed  flatly  along  the 
hull,  laced  with  swirls  of  milky  foam,  it  was  almost 
black.  Farther  away,  it  was  green,  or  darkly 


178       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

violet.  A  ladder  led  to  the  top  of  the  charthouse, 
and  from  this  commanding  height  the  whole  body 
of  the  ship  lay  below  him.  How  alive  she  seemed, 
how  full  of  personality !  The  strong  funnels,  the 
tall  masts  that  moved  so  delicately  against  the 
pale  open  sky,  the  distant  stern  that  now  dipped 
low  in  a  comfortable  hollow,  and  now  soared  and 
threshed  onward  with  a  swimming  thrust,  the 
whole  vital  organism  spoke  to  the  eye  and  the 
imagination.  In  the  centre  of  this  vast  circle 
she  moved,  royal  and  serene.  She  was  more 
beautiful  than  the  element  she  rode  on,  for  per 
haps  there  was  something  meaningless  in  that 
pure  vacant  round  of  sea  and  sky.  Once  its  im 
mense  azure  was  grasped  and  noted,  it  brought 
nothing  to  the  mind.  Reason  was  indignant  to 
conceive  it,  sloping  endlessly  away. 

The  placid,  beautifully  planned  routine  of 
shipboard  passed  on  its  accustomed  course,  and  he 
began  to  suspect  that  his  staff-captaincy  was  a 
sinecure.  Down  below  he  could  see  the  passengers 
briskly  promenading,  or  drowsing  under  their 
rugs.  On  the  hurricane  deck,  aft,  a  sailor  was 
chalking  a  shuffleboard  court.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  all  this  might  become  monotonous  un- 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       179 

less  he  found  some  actual  part  in  it.  Just  then 
Captain  Scottie  appeared  on  the  bridge,  took  a 
quick  look  round,  and  joined  him  on  top  of  the 
charthouse. 

"Good  morning!"  he  said.  "You  won't  think 
me  rude  if  you  don't  see  much  of  me?  Thinking 
about  those  ideas  of  yours,  I  have  come  upon 
some  rather  puzzling  stuff.  I  must  work  the 
whole  thing  out  more  clearly.  Your  suggestion 
that  Conscience  points  the  way  to  an  integration 
of  personality  into  a  higher  type  of  divinity, 
seems  to  me  off  the  track;  but  I  haven't  quite 
downed  it  yet.  I'm  going  to  shut  myself  up 
to-day  and  consider  the  matter.  I  leave  you  in 
charge." 

"I  shall  be  perfectly  happy,"  said  Gissing. 
"Please  don't  worry  about  me." 

"You  suggest  that  all  the  conditions  of  life 
at  sea,  our  mastery  of  the  forces  of  Nature,  and 
so  on,  seem  to  show  that  we  have  perfect  freedom 
of  will,  and  adapt  everything  to  our  desires.  I 
believe  just  the  contrary.  The  forces  of  Nature 
compel  us  to  approach  them  in  their  own  way, 
otherwise  we  are  shipwrecked.  It  is  in  the  con 
ditions  of  Nature  that  this  ship  should  reach 


180       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

port  in  eight  days,  otherwise  we  should  get  no 
where.  We  do  it  because  it  is  our  destiny." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Gissing.  But 
the  Captain  had  already  departed  with  a  clouded 
brow. 

On  the  chart-room  roof  Gissing  had  discovered 
an  alluring  instrument,  the  exact  use  of  which 
he  did  not  know.  It  seemed  to  be  some  kind  of 
steering  control.  The  dial  was  lettered,  from  left 
to  right,  as  follows : — HARD  A  PORT,  PORT,  STEADY, 

COURSE,   STEADY,   STARBD,   HARD   A   STARBD.   At 

present  the  handle  stood  upon  the  section  marked 
COURSE.  After  a  careful  study  of  the  whole  sea 
scape,  it  seemed  to  Gissing  that  off  to  the  south 
the  ocean  looked  more  blue  and  more  interesting. 
After  some  hesitation  he  moved  the  handle  to  the 
PORT  mark,  and  waited  to  see  what  would  hap 
pen.  To  his  delight  he  saw  the  bow  swing  slowly 
round,  and  the  Pomeranians  gleaming  wake  spread 
behind  her  in  a  whitened  curve.  He  descended 
to  the  bridge,  a  little  nervous  as  to  what  Mr. 
Pointer  might  say,  but  he  found  the  Mate  gazing 
across  the  water  with  the  same  fierce  and  un 
wearying  attention. 

"I  have  changed  the  course,"  he  said. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       181 

Mr.  Pointer  saluted,  but  said  nothing. 

Having  succeeded  so  far,  Gissing  ventured  upon 
another  innovation.  He  had  been  greatly  temp 
ted  by  the  wheel,  and  envied  the  stolid  quarter 
master  who  was  steering.  So,  assuming  an  air 
of  calm  certainty,  he  entered  the  wheelhouse. 

"I'll  take  her  for  a.  while,"  he  said. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  said  the  quartermaster,  and 
surrendered  the  wheel  to  him. 

"You  might  string  out  a  few  flags,"  Gissing 
said.  He  had  been  noticing  the  bright  signal 
buntings  in  the  rack,  and  thought  it  a  pity  not 
to  use  them. 

"I  like  to  see  a  ship  well  dressed,"  he  added. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir,"  said  Dane.  "Any  choice, 
sir?" 

Gissing  picked  out  a  string  of  flags  which  were 
particularly  lively  in  colour-scheme,  and  had 
them  hoisted.  Then  he  gave  his  attention  to  the 
wheel.  He  found  it  quite  an  art,  and  was  sur 
prised  to  learn  that  a  big  ship  requires  so  much 
helm.  But  it  was  very  pleasant.  He  took  care 
to  steer  toward  patches  of  sea  that  looked 
interesting,  and  to  cut  into  any  particular  waves 
that  took  his  fancy.  After  an  hour  or  so,  he. 


182       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

sighted  a  fishing  schooner,  and  gave  chase.  He 
found  it  so  much  fun  to  run  close  beside  her  (tak 
ing  care  to  pass  to  leeward,  so  as  not  to  cut  off  her 
wind)  that  a  mile  farther  on  he  turned  and  steered 
a  neat  circle  about  the  bewildered  craft.  The 
Pomeranians  passengers  were  greatly  interested, 
and  lined  the  rails  trying  to  make  out  what  the 
fishermen  were  shouting.  The  captain  of  the 
schooner  seemed  particularly  agitated,  kept  wav 
ing  at  the  signal  flags  and  barking  through  a 
megaphone.  During  these  manreuvres  Mr. 
Pointer  gazed  so  hard  at  the  horizon  that  Gissing 
felt  a  bit  embarrassed. 

"I  thought  it  wise  to  find  out  exactly  what  our 
turning-circle  is,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Pointer  saluted.  He  was  a  well-trained 
officer. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Captain  reappeared, 
looking  more  cheerful.  Gissing  was  still  at  the 
helm,  which  he  found  so  fascinating  he  would  not 
relinquish  it.  He  had  ordered  his  tea  served  on 
a  little  stand  beside  the  wheel  so  that  he  could 
drink  it  while  he  steered. 

"Hullo!"  said  the  Captain.  "I  see  you've 
changed  the  course." 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       183 

"It  seemed  best  to  do  so,"  said  Gissing  firmly. 
He  felt  that  to  show  any  weakness  at  this  point 
would  be  fatal. 

"Oh,  well,  probably  it  doesn't  matter.  I'm 
coming  round  to  some  of  your  ideas." 

Gissing  saw  that  this  would  never  do.  Unless 
he  could  keep  the  master  disturbed  by  philosophic 
doubts,  Scottie  would  expect  to  resume  command 
of  the  ship. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I've  been  thinking  about  it, 
too.  I  believe  I  went  a  bit  too  far.  But  what 
do  you  think  about  this?  Do  you  believe  that 
Conscience  is  inherited  or  acquired?  You  see 
how  important  that  is.  If  Conscience  is  a  kind 
of  automatic  oracle,  infallible  and  perfect,  what 
becomes  of  free  will?  And  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
Conscience  is  only  a  laboriously  trained  percep 
tion  of  moral  and  social  utilities,  where  does  your 
deity  come  in?" 

Gissing  was  aware  that  this  dilemma  would  not 
hold  water  very  long,  and  was  painfully  im 
promptu  ;  but  it  hit  the  Captain  amidships. 

"By  Jove,"  he  said,  "that's  terrible,  isn't  it? 
It's  no  use  trying  to  carry  on  until  I've  got  that 
under  the  hatch.  Look  here,  would  you  mind, 


184       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

just  as  a  favour,  keep  things  going  while  I 
wrestle  with  that  question? — I  know  it's  asking 
a  lot,  but  perhaps " 

"It's  quite  all  right,"  Gissing  replied.  "Natur 
ally  you  want  to  work  these  things  out." 

The  Captain  started  to  leave  the  bridge,  but 
by  old  seafaring  habit  he  cast  a  keen  glance  at 
the  sky.  He  saw  the  bright  string  of  code  flags 
fluttering.  He  seemed  startled. 

"Are  you  signalling  any  one?"  he  asked. 

"No  one  in  particular.  I  thought  it  looked 
better  to  have  a  few  flags  about." 

"I  daresay  you're  right.  But  better  take  them 
down  if  you  speak  a  ship.  They're  rather  con 
fusing." 

"Confusing?  I  thought  they  were  just  to 
brighten  things  up." 

"You  have  two  different  signals  up.  They 
read,  Bubonic  plague,  give  me  a  wide  berth.  Am 
coming  to  your  assistance." 

Toward  dinner  time,  when  Gissing  had  left  the 
wheel  and  was  humming  a  tune  as  he  walked  the 
bridge,  the  steward  came  to  him. 

"The  Captain's  compliments,  sir,  and  would 
you  take  his  place  in  the  saloon  to-night?  He 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       185 

says  he's  very  busy  writing,  sir,  and  would  take 
it  as  a  favour." 

Gissing  was  always  obliging.  There  was  just 
a  hint  of  conscious  sternness  in  his  manner  as  he 
entered  the  Pomeranians  beautiful  dining  saloon, 
for  he  wished  the  passengers  to  realize  that  their 
lives  depended  upon  his  prudence  and  sea-lore. 
Twice  during  the  meal  he  instructed  the  steward 
to  bring  him  the  latest  barometer  reading;  and 
after  the  dessert  he  scribbled  a  note  on  the  back  of 
a  menu-card  and  had  it  sent  to  the  Chief 
Engineer.  It  said: — 

Dear  Chief:     Please  keep  up  a  good  head  of  steam 
to-night.     I  am  expecting  dirty  weather. 

MR.  GISSING, 
(Staff-Captain) 

What  the  Chief  said  when  he  received  the  mes 
sage  is  not  included  in  the  story. 

But  the  same  social  aplomb  that  had  made  Gis 
sing  successful  as  a  floorwalker  now  came  to  his 
rescue  as  mariner.  The  passengers  at  the  Cap 
tain's  table  were  amazed  at  his  genial  charm. 
His  anecdotes  of  sea  life  were  heartily  ap 
plauded.  After  dinner  he  circulated  gracefully 


186       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

in  the  ladies'  lounge,  and  took  coffee  there  sur 
rounded  bj  a  chattering  bevy.  He  organized  a 
little  impromptu  concert  in  the  music  room,  and 
when  that  was  well  started,  slipped  away  to  the 
smoke-room.  Here  he  found  a  pool  being  organ 
ized  as  to  the  exact  day  and  hour  when  the  Pom- 
erania  would  reach  port.  Appealed  to  for  his 
opinion,  he  advised  caution.  On  all  sides  he  was 
in  demand,  for  dancing,  for  bridge,  for  a  recita 
tion.  At  length  he  slipped  away,  pleading  that 
he  must  keep  himself  fit  in  case  of  fog.  The 
passengers  were  loud  in  his  praise,  asserting  that 
they  had  never  met  so  agreeable  a  sea-captain. 
One  elderly  lady  said  she  remembered  crossing 
with  him  in  the  old  Caninia,  years  ago,  and  that 
he  was  just  the  same  then. 


CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

A  ND  SO  the  voyage  went  on.  Gissing  was 
/%  quite  content  to  do  a  two-hour  trick  at 
^  j^  the  wheel  both  morning  and  afternoon, 
and  worked  out  some  new  principles  of  steering 
which  gave  him  pleasure.  In  the  first  place,  he 
noticed  that  the  shuffle-board  and  quoit  players, 
on  the  boat  deck  aft,  were  occasionally  annoyed 
iby  cinders  from  the  stacks,  so  he  made  it  a  gen 
eral  plan  to  steer  so  that  the  smoke  blew  at  right 
angles  to  the  ship's  course.  As  the  wind  was 
prevailingly  west,  this  meant  that  his  general 
trend  was  southerly.  Whenever  he  saw  another 
vessel,  a  mass  of  floating  sea-weed,  a  porpoise, 
or  even  a  sea-gull,  he  steered  directly  for  it,  and 
passed  as  close  as  possible,  to  have  a  good  look 
at  it.  Even  Mr.  Pointer  admitted  (in  the  mates' 
mess)  that  he  had  never  experienced  so  eventful 
a  voyage.  To  keep  the  quartermasters  from  be 
ing  idle,  Gissing  had  them  knit  him  a  rope  ham- 

187 


188       WHERE  THE  BLUE   BEGINS 

mock  to  be  slung  in  the  chart-room.  He  felt 
that  this  would  be  more  nautical  than  a  plush 
settee. 

There  was  a  marvellous  sense  of  power  in  stand 
ing  at  the  wheel  and  feeling  the  great  hull  reply 
to  his  touch.  Occasionally  Captain  Scottie 
would  emerge  from  his  cabin,  look  round  with 
a  faint  surprise,  and  come  to  the  bridge  to  see 
what  was  happening.  Mr.  Pointer  would  salute 
mutely,  and  continue  to  study  the  skyline  with 
indignant  absorption.  The  Captain  would  ap 
proach  the  wheel,  where  Gissing  was  deep  in 
thought.  Rubbing  his  hands,  the  Captain  would 
say  heartily,  "Well,  I  think  I've  got  it  all  clear 
now." 

Gissing  sighed. 

"What  is  it?"  the  Captain  inquired  anxiously. 

"I'm  bothered  about  the  subconscious.  They 
tell  us  nowadays  that  it's  the  subconscious  mind 
that  is  really  important.  The  more  mental 
operations  we  can  turn  over  to  the  subconscious 
realm,  the  happier  we  will  be,  and  the  more  effi 
cient.  Morality,  theology,  and  everything  really 
worth  while,  as  I  understand  it,  spring  from  the 
subconscious." 


• 


WHERE  THE  BLUE   BEGINS       189 

The  Captain's  look  of  cheer  would  vanish. 

"Maybe  there's  something  in  that." 

"If  so,"  Gissing  continued,  "then  perhaps  con 
sciousness  is  entirely  spurious.  It  seems  to  me 
that  before  we  can  get  anywhere  at  all,  we've  got 
to  draw  the  line  between  the  conscious  and  the 
subconscious.  What  bothers  me  is,  am  I  con 
scious  of  having  a  subconscious,  or  not?  Some 
times  I  think  I  am,  and  then  again  I'm  doubtful. 
But  if  I'm  aware  of  my  subconscious,  then  it  isn't 
a  genuine  subconscious,  and  the  whole  thing's 
just  another  delusion " 

The  Captain  would  knit  his  weather-beaten 
brow  and  again  retire  anxiously  to  his  quarters, 
after  begging  Gissing  to  be  generous  and  carry 
on  a  while  longer.  Occasionally,  pacing  the 
starboard  bridge-deck,  sacred  to  captains,  Gis 
sing  would  glance  through  the  port  and  see  the 
metaphysical  commander  bent  over  sheets  of  fools 
cap  and  thickly  wreathed  in  pipe-smoke. 

He  himself  had  fallen  into  a  kind  of  tranced 
felicity,  in  which  these  questions  no  longer  had 
other  than  an  ingenious  interest.  His  heart  was 
drowned  in  the  engulfing  blue.  As  they  made 
their  southing,  wind  and  weather  seemed  to  fall 


190       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

astern,  the  sun  poured  with  a  more  golden  can 
dour.  He  stood  at  the  wheel  in  a  tranquil  reverie, 
blithely  steering  toward  some  bright  belly  of 
cloud  that  had  caught  his  fancy.  Mr.  Pointer 
shook  his  head  when  he  glanced  surreptitiously  at 
the  steering  recorder,  a  device  that  noted  graph 
ically  every  movement  of  the  rudder  with  a  view 
to  promoting  economical  helmsmanship.  Indeed 
Gissing's  course,  as  logged  on  the  chart,  sur 
prised  even  himself,  so  that  he  forbade  the  officers 
taking  their  noon  observations.  When  Mr. 
Pointer  said  something  about  isobars,  the  staff- 
captain  replied  serenely  that  he  did  not  expect  to 
find  any  polar  bears  in  these  latitudes. 

He  had  hoped  privately  for  an  occasional 
pirate,  and  scanned  the  sea-rim  sharply  for  sus 
picious  topsails.  But  the  ocean,  as  he  remarked, 
is  not  crowded.  They  proceeded,  day  after  day, 
in  a  solitary  wideness  of  unblemished  colour. 
The  ship,  travelling  always  in  the  centre  of  this 
infinite  disk,  seemed  strangely  identified  with  his 
own  itinerant  spirit,  watchful  at  the  gist  of 
things,  alert  at  the  point  which  was  necessarily, 
for  him,  the  nub  of  all  existence.  He  wandered 
about  the  Pomeranians  sagely  ordered  passages 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS      191 

and  found  her  more  and  more  magical.  She  went 
on  and  on,  with  some  strange  urgent  vitality  of 
her  own.  Through  the  fiddleys  on  the  boat  deck 
came  a  hot  oily  breath  and  the  steady  drumming 
of  her  burning  heart.  From  oxter  to  hawse-hole, 
from  shaft-tunnel  to  crow's-nest,  he  explored  and 
loved  her.  In  the  whole  of  her  proud,  faithful, 
obedient  fabric  he  divined  honour  and  exultation. 
Poised  upon  uncertainty,  she  was  sure.  The 
camber  of  her  white-scrubbed  decks,  the  long, 
clean  sheer  of  her  hull,  the  concave  flare  of  her 
bows — what  was  the  amazing  joy  and  rightness 
of  these  things?  And  yet  the  grotesque  passen 
gers  regarded  her  only  as  a  vehicle,  to  carry  them 
sedatively  to  some  clamouring  dock.  Fools! 
She  was  more  lovely  than  anything  they  would 
ever  see  again!  He  yearned  to  drive  her  end 
lessly  toward  that  unreachable  perimeter  of  sky. 
On  land  there  had  been  definite  horizons,  even 
if  disappointing  when  reached  and  examined ;  but 
here  there  was  no  horizon  at  all.  Every  hour  it 
slid  and  slid  over  the  dark  orb  of  sea.  He  lost 
count  of  time.  The  tremulous  cradling  of  the 
Pomerania,  steadily  climbing  the  long  leagues; 
her  noble  forecastle  solemnly  lifting  against 


192       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

heaven,  then  descending  with  grave  beauty  into  a 
spread  of  foaming  beryl  and  snowdrift,  seemed 
one  with  the  rhythm  of  his  pulse  and  heart.  Per 
haps  there  had  been  more  than  mere  ingenuity  in 
his  last  riddle  for  the  theological  skipper.  Truly 
the  subconscious  had  usurped  him.  Here  he  was 
almost  happy,  for  he  was  almost  unaware  of  life. 
It  was  all  blue  vacancy  and  suspension.  The  sea 
is  the  great  answer  and  consoler,  for  it  means 
either  nothing  or  everything,  and  so  need  not 
tease  the  brain. 

But  the  passengers,  though  unobservant,  began 
to  murmur ;  especially  those  who  had  wagered  that 
the  Pomerania  would  dock  on  the  eighth  day. 
The  world  itself,  they  complained,  was  created  in 
seven  days,  and  why  should  so  fine  a  ship  take 
longer  to  cross  a  comparatively  small  ocean? 
Urbanely,  over  coffee  and  petits  fours,  Gissing 
argued  with  them.  They  were  well  on  their  way, 
he  protested;  and  then,  as  a  hypothetical  case, 
he  asked  why  one  destination  was  more  worth 
visiting  than  another?  He  even  quoted  Shake 
speare  on  this  point — something  about  "ports  and 
happy  havens" — and  succeeded  in  turning  the  tide 
of  conversation  for  a  while.  The  mention  of 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       193 

Shakespeare  suggested  to  some  of  the  ladies  that 
it  would  be  pleasant,  now  they  all  knew  each  other 
so  well,  to  put  on  some  amateur  theatricals. 
They  compromised  by  playing  charades  in  the 
saloon.  Another  evening  Gissing  kept  them 
amused  by  fireworks,  which  were  very  lovely 
against  the  dark  sky.  For  this  purpose  he  used 
the  emergency  rockets,  star-shells  and  coloured 
flares,  much  to  the  distress  of  Dane,  the  quarter 
master,  who  had  charge  of  these  supplies. 

Little  by  little,  however,  the  querulous  protests 
of  the  passengers  began  to  weary  him.  Also,  he 
had  been  receiving  terse  memoranda  from  the 
Chief  Engineer  that  the  coal  was  getting  low  in 
the  bunkers  and  that  something  must  be  queer  in 
the  navigating  department.  This  seemed  very 
unreasonable.  The  fixed  gaze  of  Mr.  Pointer, 
perpetually  examining  the  horizon  as  though  he 
wanted  to  make  sure  he  would  recognize  it  if  they 
met  again,  was  trying.  Even  Captain  Scottie 
complained  one  day  that  the  supply  of  fresh  meat 
had  given  out  and  that  the  steward  had  been 
bringing  him  tinned  beef.  Gissing  determined 
upon  resolute  measures. 

He  had  notice  served  that  on  account  of  possi- 


194       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

ble  danger  from  pirates  there  would  be  a  general 
boat  drill  on  the  following  day — not  merely  for 
the  crew,  but  for  everyone.  He  gave  a  little  talk 
about  it  in  the  saloon  after  dinner,  and  worked 
his  audience  up  to  quite  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm. 
This  would  be  better  than  any  amateur  theat 
ricals,  he  insisted.  Everyone  was  to  act  exactly 
as  though  in  a  sudden  calamity.  They  might 
make  up  the  boat-parties  on  the  basis  of  conge 
niality  if  they  wished ;  five  minutes  would  be  given 
for  reaching  the  stations,  without  panic  or  dis 
order.  They  should  prepare  themselves  as  though 
they  were  actually  going  to  leave  a  sinking  ship. 

The  passengers  were  delighted  with  the  idea  of 
this  novel  entertainment.  Every  soul  on  board — • 
with  the  exception  of  Captain  Scottie,  who  had 
locked  himself  in  and  refused  to  be  disturbed — 
was  properly  advertised  of  the  event. 

The  following  day,  fortunately,  was  clear  and 
calm.  At  noon  Gissing  blew  the  syren,  fired  a 
rocket  from  the  bridge,  and  swung  the  engine 
telegraph  to  STOP.  The  ship's  orchestra,  by  his 
orders,  struck  up  a  rollicking  air.  Quickly  and 
without  confusion,  amid  cries  of  Women  and 
children  first!  the  passengers  filed  to  their  allot- 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS        195 

ted  places.  The  crew  and  officers  were  all  at  their 
stations. 

Gissing  knocked  at  Captain  Scottie's  cabin. 

"We  are  taking  to  the  boats,"  he  said. 

"Goad!"  cried  the  skipper.  "Wull  it  be  a 
colleesion?" 

"All's  clear  and  the  davits  are  outboard,"  said 
Gissing.  He  had  been  studying  the  manual  of 
boat  handling  in  one  of  the  nautical  volumes  in 
the  chart-room. 

"Auld  Hornie!"  ejaculated  the  skipper.  "We'll 
no  can  salve  the  specie!  Make  note  of  her  po- 
seetion,  Mr.  Gissing!"  He  hastened  to  gather  his 
papers,  the  log,  a  chronometer,,  and  a  large  can 
ister  of  tobacco. 

"The  Deil's  intil't,"  he  said  as  he  hastened  to 
his  boat.  "I  had  yon  pragmateesm  of  yours  on  a 
lee  shore.  Two-three  hours,  I'd  have  careened  ye." 

Gissing  was  ready  with  h!s  megaphone.  From 
the  wing  of  the  bridge  he  gave  the  orders. 

"Lower  away!"  and  the  boats  dropped  to  the 
passenger  rail. 

"Avast  lowering!"  Each  boat  took  in  her 
roster  of  passengers,  who  were  in  high  spirits  at 
this  unusual  excitement. 


196       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"Mind  your  pa        rs  !     Lower  handsomely !" 

The  boats  took  .ne  water  in  orderly  fashion, 
and  were  cast  off.  Remaining  members  of  the 
crew  swarmed  down  the  falls.  The  bandsmen 
had  a  boat  to  themselves,  and  resumed  their  tune 
as  soon  as  they  were  settled. 

Gissing,  left  alone  on  the  ship,  waved  for  si 
lence. 

"Look  sharp,  man!"  cried  Captain  Scottie. 
"Honour's  satisfied !  Take  your  place  in  the 
boat!" 

The  passengers  applauded,  and  there  was  quite 
a  clatter  of  camera  shutters  as  they  snapped  the 
Pomerania  looming  grandly  above  them. 

"Boats  are  all  provisioned  and  equipped," 
shouted  Gissing.  "I've  broadcasted  your  position 
by  radio.  The  barometer's  at  Fixed  Fair.  Pull 
off  now,  and  'ware  the  screw." 

He  moved  the  telegraph  handle  to  DEAD  SLOW, 
and  the  Pomerania  began  to  slip  forward  gently. 
The  boats  dropped  aft  amid  a  loud  miscellaneous 
outcry.  Mr.  Pointer  was  already  examining  the 
horizon.  Captain  Scottie,  awakened  to  the  sit 
uation,  was  uttering  the  language  of  theology  but 
not  the  purport. 


WHERE  THE  BL    E  BEGINS       197 

"Don't  stand  up  in  the  >ats,"  megaphoned 
Gissing.  "You're  quite  all  i-ght,  there's  a  ship 
on  the  way  already.  I  wirelessed  last  night." 

He  slid  the  telegraph  to  SLOW,  HALF,  and  then 
FULL.  Once  more  the  ship  creamed  through  the 
lifting  purple  swells.  The  little  flock  of  boats 
was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Alone  at  the  wheel,  he  realized  that  a  great 
weight  was  off  his  mind.  The  responsibility  of 
his  position  had  burdened  him  more  than  he  knew. 
Now  a  strange  eagerness  and  joy  possessed  him. 
His  bubbling  wake  cut  straight  and  milky  across 
the  glittering  afternoon.  In  a  ruddy  sunset  glow, 
the  sea  darkened  through  all  tints  of  violet, 
amethyst,  indigo.  The  horizon  line  sharpened 
so  clearly  that  he  could  distinguish  the  tossing 
profile  of  waves  wetting  the  sky.  "A  red  sky  at 
night  is  the  sailor's  delight,"  he  said  to  himself. 
He  switched  on  the  port  and  starboard  lights  and 
the  masthead  lanterns,  then  lashed  the  wheel 
while  he  went  below  for  supper.  He  did  not  know 
exactly  where  he  was,  for  he  seemed  to  have 
steamed  clean  off  the  chart ;  but  as  he  conned  the 
helm  that  evening,  and  leaned  over  the  lighted 
binnacle,  he  had  a  feeling  that  he  was  not  far 


198       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

from  some  destiny.  With  cheerful  assurance  he 
lashed  the  wheel  again,  and  turned  in.  He  woke 
once  in  the  night,  and  leaped  from  the  hammock 
with  a  start.  He  thought  he  had  heard  a  sound 
of  barking. 


CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 

THE  next  morning  he  sighted  land.     Com 
ing   out   on  the  bridge,   the  whole   face 
of  things  was  changed.     The  sea-colour 
had  lightened  to  a  tawny  green;  gulls  dipped  and 
hovered;  away   on  the  horizon  lay   a   soft  blue 
contour.     "Land  Ho!"  he  shouted  superbly,  and 
wondered  what  new  country  he  had  discovered. 
He  ran  up  a  hoist  of  red  and  yellow  signal  flags, 
and  steered  gaily  toward  the  shore. 

It  had  grown  suddenly  cold :  he  had  to  fetch 
Captain  Scottie's  pea-jacket  to  wear  at  the 
wheel.  On  the  long  spilling  crests,  that  crumbled 
and  spread  running  layers  of  froth  in  their  hurry 
shoreward,  the  Pomerania  rode  home.  She  knew 
her  landfall  and  seemed  to  quicken.  Steadily 
swinging  on  the  jade-green  surges,  she  buried  her 
nose  almost  to  the  hawse-pipes,  then  lifted  until 
her  streaming  forefoot  gleamed  out  of  a  frilled 
ruffle  of  foam, 

109 


200       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

Gissing,  too,  was  eager.  A  tingling  buoyancy 
and  impatience  took  hold  of  him :  he  fidgeted  with 
sheer  eagerness  for  life.  Land,  the  beloved  stabil 
ity  of  our  dear  and  only  earth,  drew  and  charmed 
him.  Behind  was  the  senseless,  heartbreaking  sea. 
Now  he  could  discern  hills  rising  in  a  gilded 
opaline  light.  In  the  volatile  thin  air  was  a 
quick  sense  of  strangeness.  A  new  world  was 
close  about  him:  a  world  that  he  could  see,  and 
feel,  and  inhale,  and  yet  knew  nothing  of. 

Suddenly  a  great  humility  possessed  him.  He 
had  been  froward  and  silly  and  vain.  He  had 
shouted  arrogantly  at  Beauty,  like  a  noisy  tour 
ist  in  a  canyon;  and  the  only  answer,  after  long 
waiting,  had  been  the  paltry  diminished  echo  of 
his  own  voice.  He  thought  shamefully  of  his 
follies.  What  matter  how  you  name  God  or  in 
what  words  you  praise  Him?  In  this  new  foreign 
land  he  would  quietly  accept  things  as  he  found 
them.  The  laughter  of  God  was  too  strange  to 
understand. 

No,  there  was  no  answer.  He  was  doubly 
damned,  for  he  had  made  truth  a  mere  sport  of 
intellectual  riddling.  The  mind,  like  a  spinning 
flywheel  of  fatigued  steel,  was  gradually  racked 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       201 

to  bursting  by  the  conflict  of  stresses.  And  yet : 
every  equilibrium  was  an  opposure  of  forces. 
Hotation,  if  swift  enough,  creates  amazing  stabil 
ity:  he  had  seen  how  the  gyroscope  can  balance 
at  apparently  impossible  angles.  Perhaps  it  was 
so  of  the  mind.  If  it  twirls  at  high  speed  it  can 
lean  right  out  over  the  abyss  without  collapse- 
But  the  stationary  mind — he  thought  of  Bishop 
Borzoi — must  keep  away  from  the  edge.  Try  to 
force  it  to  the  edge,  it  raves  in  panic.  Every 
mind,  very  likely,  knows  its  own  frailties,  and  does 
well  to  safeguard  them.  At  any  rate,  that  was 
the  most  generous  interpretation.  Most  minds, 
undoubtedly,  were  uneasy  in  high  places.  They 
doubted  their  ability  to  refrain  from  jumping  off. 
How  many  bones  of  fine  intellects  lay  whitening 

at  the  foot  of  the  theological  cliff 

It  seemed  to  be  a  lonely  coast,  and  wintry. 
Patches  of  snow  lay  upon  the  hills,  the  woods 
were  bare  and  brown.  A  bottle-necked  harbour 
opened  out  before  him.  He  reduced  the  engines 
to  Dead  Slow  and  glided  gaily  through  the  strait. 
He  had  been  anxious  lest  his  navigation  might  not 
be  equal  to  the  occasion:  he  did  not  want  to  dis 
grace  himself  at  this  final  test.  But  all  seemed  to 


202       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

arrange  itself  with  enchanted  ease.  A  steep 
ledge  of  ground  offered  a  natural  pier,  with  tree- 
stumps  for  bollards.  He  let  her  come  gently 
beyond  the  spot;  reversed  the  propellers  just  at 
the  right  time,  and  backed  neatly  alongside.  He 
moved  the  telegraph  handle  to  FINISHED  WITH 
ENGINES;  ran  out  the  gangplank  smartly,  and 
stepped  ashore.  He  moored  the  vessel  fore  and 
aft,  and  hung  out  fenders  to  prevent  chafing. 

The  first  thing  to  do,  he  said  to  himself,  is  to 
get  the  lie  of  the  land,  and  find  out  whether  it  is 
inhabited. 

A  hillside  rising  above  the  water  promised  a 
clear  view.  The  stubble  grass  was  dry  and  frosty, 
after  the  warm  days  at  sea  the  chill  was  nipping ; 
but  what  an  elixir  of  air!  If  this  is  a  desert 
island,  he  thought,  it  will  be  a  glorious  discovery. 
His  heart  was  jocund  with  anticipation.  A  cu 
rious  foreign  look  in  the  landscape,  he  thought ; 
quite  unlike  anything 

Suddenly,  where  the  hill  arched  against  pearly 
sky,  he  saw  a  narrow  thread  of  smoke  rising.  He 
halted  in  alarm.  Who  might  this  be,  friend  or 
foe?  But  eager  agitation  pushed  him  on.  Burn 
ing  to  know,  he  hurried  up  to  the  brow  of  the  hill. 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       203 

The  smoke  mounted  from  a  small  bonfire  of 
sticks  in  a  sheltered  thicket,  where  a  miraculous 
being — who  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  rather 
ragged  and  dingy  vagabond — was  cooking  a  tin 
of  stew  over  the  blaze. 

Gissing  stood,  quivering  with  emotion.  Joy 
such  as  he  had  never  known  darted  through  all 
the  cords  of  his  body.  He  ran,  shouting,  in  mirth 
and  terror.  In  fear,  in  a  passion  of  love  and 
knowledge  and  understanding,  he  abased  himself 
and  yearned  before  this  marvel.  Impossible  to 
have  conceived,  yet,  once  seen,  utterly  satisfying 
and  the  fulfilment  of  all  needs.  He  laughed  and 
leaped  and  worshipped.  When  the  first  trans 
port  was  over,  he  laid  his  head  against  this  be 
ing's  knee,  he  nestled  there  and  was  content.  This 
was  the  inscrutable  perfect  answer. 

"Gripes!"  said  the  puzzled  tramp,  as  he  ca 
ressed  the  nuzzling  head.  "The  purp's  loco. 
Maybe  he's  been  lost.  You  might  think  he'd 
never  seen  a  man  before." 

He  was  right. 

And  Gissing  sat  quietly,  his  throat  resting  upon 
the  soiled  knee  of  a  very  old  and  spicy  trouser. 

"I  have  found  God,"  he  said. 


204       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

Presently  he  thought  of  the  ship.  It  would 
not  do  to  leave  her  so  insecurely  moored.  Re 
luctantly,  with  many  a  backward  glance  and  a 
heart  full  of  glory,  he  left  the  Presence.  He  ran 
to  the  edge  of  the  hill  to  look  down  upon  the 
harbour. 

The  outlook  was  puzzlingly  altered.  He  gazed 
in  astonishment.  What  were  those  poplars,  ris 
ing  naked  into  the  bright  air? — there  was  some 
thing  familiar  about  them.  And  that  little  house 
beyond  ...  he  stared  bewildered. 

The  great  shining  breadth  of  the  ocean  had 
shrunk  to  the  roundness  of  a  tiny  pond.  And  the 
Pomerania?  He  leaned  over,  shaken  with  ques 
tions.  There,  beside  the  bank,  was  a  little  plank 
of  wood,  a  child's  plaything,  roughly  fashioned 
shipshape:  two  chips  for  funnels;  red  and  yellow 
frosted  leaves  for  flags;  a  withered  dogwood 
blossom  for  propeller.  He  leaned  closer,  with 
whirling  mind.  In  the  clear  cool  surface  of  the 
pond  he  could  see  the  sky  mirrored,  deeper  than 
any  ocean,  pellucid,  infinite,  blue. 

He  ran  up  the  path  to  the  house.  The  scuffled 
ragged  garden  lay  naked  and  hard.  At  the 
windows,  he  saw  with  surprise,  were  holly  wreaths 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS      205 

tied  with  broad  red  ribbon.  On  the  porch,  some 
battered  toys.  He  opened  the  door. 

A  fluttering  rosy  light  filled  the  room.  By  the 
fireplace  the  puppies — how  big  they  were! — were 
sitting  with  Mrs.  Spaniel.  Joyous  uproar 
greeted  him:  they  flung  themselves  upon  him. 
Shouts  of  "Daddy!  Daddy!"  filled  the  house, 
while  the  young  Spaniels  stood  by  more  bashfully. 

Good  Mrs.  Spaniel  was  gratefully  moved.  Her 
moist  eyes  shone  brightly  in  the  firelight. 

"I  knew  you'd  be  home  for  Christmas,  Mr. 
Gissing,"  she  said.  "I've  been  telling  them  so 
all  afternoon.  Now,  children,  be  still  a  moment 
and  let  me  speak.  I've  been  telling  you  your 
Daddy  would  be  home  in  time  for  a  Christmas 
Eve  story.  I've  got  to  go  and  fix  that  plum 
pudding." 

In  her  excitement  a  clear  bubble  dripped  from 
the  tip  of  her  tongue.  She  caught  it  in  her 
apron,  and  hurried  to  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN 

THE  children  insisted  on  leading  him  all 
through   the  house   to   show   how   nicely 
they  had  taken  care  of  things.     And  in 
every  room  Gissing  saw  the  marks   of  riot  and 
wreckage.     There  were  tooth-scars  on  all  furni 
ture-legs;  the  fringes  of   rugs  were  chewed  off; 
there  were  prints  of  mud,  ink,  paints,  and  what 
not,   on  curtains   and  wallpapers   and   coverlets. 
Poor  Mrs.  Spaniel  kept  running  anxiously  from 
the  kitchen  to  renew  apologies. 

"I  did  try  to  keep  'em  in  order,"  she  said,  "but 
they  seem  to  bash  things  when  you're  not  looking." 
But  Gissing  was  too  happy  to  stew  about  such 
trifles.  When  the  inspection  was  over,  they  all 
sat  down  by  the  chimney  and  he  piled  on  more 
logs. 

"Well,  chilluns,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  want 
Santa  Claus  to  bring  you  for  Christmas?" 
206 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       207 

"An  aunbile!"  -v  ^  Groups 

"An  elphunt !"  [  (  Bunks 

CCA  vj-j-i          •       > exclaimed  />      , 
"A  little  tram    C  (  Yelpers 

with  hammers  !"     J  J 

"A  little  train  with  hammers?"  asked  Gissing. 
"What  does  he  mean?" 

"Oh,"  said  Groups  and  Bunks,  with  condescend 
ing  pity,  "he  means  a  typewriter.  He  calls  it  a 
little  train  because  it  moves  on  a  track  when  you 
hit  it." 

A  painful  apprehension  seized  him,  and  he  went 
hastily  to  his  study.  He  had  not  noticed  the 
typewriter,  which  Mrs.  Spaniel  had — too  late — 
put  out  of  reach.  Half  the  keys  were  sticking 
upright,  jammed  together  and  tangled  in  a  whirl 
of  ribbon;  the  carriage  was  strangely  dislocated. 
And  yet  even  this  mischance,  which  would  once 
have  horrified  him,  left  him  unperturbed.  It's  my 
own  fault,  he  thought:  I  shouldn't  have  left  it 
where  they  could  play  with  it.  Perhaps  God 
thinks  the  same  when  His  creatures  make  a  mess 
of  the  dangerous  laws  of  life. 

"A  Christmas  story!"  the  children  were  clam 
ouring. 

Can    it    really    be    Christmas    Eve?     Gissing 


208       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

thought.  Christmas  seems  to  have  come  very 
suddenly  this  year,  I  haven't  really  adjusted  my 
mind  to  it  yet. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "Now  sit  still  and  keep 
quiet.  Bunks,  give  Yelpers  a  little  more  room. 
If  there's  any  bickering  Santa  Claus  might  hear 
it." 

He  sat  in  the  big  chair  by  the  fire,  and  the  three 
looked  upward  expectantly  from  the  hearthrug. 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  were  three  little  pup 
pies,  who  lived  in  a  house  in  the  country  in  the 
Canine  Estates.  And  their  names  were  Groups, 
Bunks,  and  Yelpers." 

The  three  tails  thumped  in  turn  as  the  names 
were  mentioned,  but  the  children  were  too  excitedly 
absorbed  to  interrupt. 

"And  one  year,  just  before  Christmas,  they 
heard  a  dreadful  rumour." 

"What's  a  rumour?"  cried  Yelpers,  alarmed. 

This  was  rather  difficult  to  explain,  so  Gissing 
did  not  attempt  it.  He  began  again. 

"They  heard  that  Santa  Claus  might  not  be 
able  to  come  because  he  was  so  behind  with  his 
housework.  You  see,  Santa  Claus  is  a  great  big 
Newfoundland  dog  with  a  white  beard,  and  he 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       209 

lives  in  a  frosty  kennel  at  the  North  Pole,  all 
shining  with  icicles  round  the  roof  and  windows. 
But  it's  so  far  away  from  everywhere  that  poor 
Santa  couldn't  get  a  servant.  All  the  maids  who 
went  there  refused  to  stay  because  it  was  so  cold 
and  lonely,  and  so  far  from  the  movies.  Santa 
Glaus  was  busy  in  his  workshop,  making  toys ; 
he  was  busy  taking  care  of  the  reindeer  in  their 
snow-stables ;  and  he  didn't  have  time  to  wash  his 
dishes.  So  all  summer  he  just  let  them  pile  up 
and  pile  up  in  the  kitchen.  And  when  Christmas 
came  near,  there  was  his  lovely  house  in  a  dread 
ful  state  of  untidiness.  He  couldn't  go  away  and 
leave  it  like  that.  And  so,  if  he  didn't  get  his 
dishes  washed  and  the  house  cleaned  up  for 
Christmas,  all  the  puppies  all  over  the  world 
would  have  to  go  without  toys.  When  Groups 
and  Bunks  and  Yelpers  heard  this,  they  were 
very  much  worried." 

"How  did  they  hear  it?"  asked  Bunks,  who 
was  the  analytical  member  of  the  trio. 

"A  very  sensible  question,"  said  Gissing,  ap 
provingly.  "They  heard  it  from  the  chipmunk 
who  lives  in  the  wood  behind  the  house.  The 
chipmunk  heard  it  underground." 


210       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"In  his  chipmonastery  ?"  cried  Groups.  It  was 
a  family  joke  to  call  the  chipmunk's  burrow  by 
that  name,  and  though  the  puppies  did  not  under 
stand  the  pun  they  relished  the  long  word. 

"Yes,"  continued  Gissing.  "The  reindeer  in 
Santa  Claus's  stable  were  so  unhappy  about  the 
dishes  not  being  washed,  and  the  chance  of  missing 
their  Christmas  frolic,  that  they  broadcasted  a 
radio  message.  Their  horns  are  very  fine  for 
sending  radio ;  and  the  chipmunk,  sitting  at  his 
little  wireless  outfit,  with  the  receivers  over  his 
ears,  heard  it.  And  Chippy  told  Groups  and 
Bunks  and  Yelpers. 

"So  these  puppies  decided  to  help  Santa  Claus. 
They  didn't  know  exactly  where  to  find  him,  but 
the  chipmunk  told  them  the  direction,  and  off  they 
went.  They  travelled  and  travelled,  and  when 
they  came  to  the  ocean  they  begged  a  ride  from 
the  seagulls,  and  each  one  sat  on  a  seagull's 
back  just  as  though  he  was  on  a  little  airplane. 
They  flew  and  flew,  and  at  last  they  came  to 
Santa  Claus's  house.  Through  the  stable-walls, 
which  were  made  of  clear  ice,  they  could  see  the 
reindeer  stamping  in  their  stalls.  In  the  big 
workshop,  where  Santa  Claus  was  busy  making 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       211 

toys,  they  could  hear  a  lively  sound  of  hammering. 
The  big  red  sleigh  was  standing  outside  the 
stables,  all  ready  to  be  hitched  up  to  the  reindeer. 

"They  slipped  into  Santa  Claus's  house  quickly 
and  quietly,  so  no  one  would  see  or  hear  them. 
The  house  was  in  a  terrible  state,  but  they  set 
to  work  to  clean  up.  Groups  found  the  vacuum 
cleaner  and  sucked  up  all  the  crumbs  from  the 
dining-room  rug.  Bunks  ran  upstairs  and  made 
Santa  Claus's  bed  for  him  and  swept  the  floors 
and  put  clean  towels  in  the  bathroom.  And 
Yelpers  hurried  into  the  kitchen  and  washed  the 
dishes,  and  scrubbed  the  pots,  and  polished  the 
egg-stains  off  the  silver  spoons,  and  emptied  the 
ice-box  pan.  All  working  hard,  they  got  through 
very  soon,  and  made  Santa  Claus's  house  as 
clean  as  any  house  could  be.  They  fixed  the 
window-shades  so  that  they  would  all  hang  level, 
not  just  anyhow,  as  poor  Santa  had  them.  Then, 
when  everything  was  spick  and  span,  they  ran 
outdoors  again  and  beckoned  the  seagulls.  They 
climbed  on  the  gulls'  backs,  and  away  they  flew 
homeward." 

"Was  Santa  Claus  pleased?"  asked  Bunks. 

"Indeed  he  was,  when  he  came  back  from  his 


212       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

workshop,  very  tired  after  making  toys  all 
day " 

"What  kind  of  toys  did  he  make?"  exclaimed 
Yelpers  anxiously.  "Did  he  make  a  typewriter?" 

"He  made  every  kind  of  toy.  And  when  he 
saw  how  his  house  had  been  cleaned  up,  he  thought 
the  fairies  must  have  done  it.  He  lit  his  pipe, 
and  filled  a  thermos  bottle  with  hot  cocoa  to  keep 
him  warm  on  his  long  journey.  Then  he  put  on 
his  red  coat,  and  his  long  boots,  and  his  fur  cap, 
and  went  out  to  harness  the  reindeer.  That  very 
night  he  drove  off  with  his  sleigh  packed  full  of 
toys  for  all  the  puppies  in  the  world.  In  fact, 
he  was  so  pleased  that  he  loaded  his  big  bag  with 
more  toys  than  he  had  ever  carried  before.  And 
that  was  how  a  queer  thing  happened." 

They  waited  in  eager  suspense. 

"You  know,  Santa  Claus  always  drives  into  the 
Canine  Estates  by  the  little  back  road  through 
the  woods,  where  the  chipmunk  lives.  You  know 
the  gateway,  at  the  bend  in  the  lane:  well,  it's 
rather  narrow,  and  Santa  Claus's  sleigh  is  very 
wide.  And  this  time,  because  his  bag  had  so 
many  toys  in  it,  the  bag  bulged  over  the  edge  of 
the  sleigh,  and  one  corner  of  the  bag  caught  on 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       213 

the  gatepost  as  he  drove  by.  Three  toys  fell 
out,  and  what  do  you  suppose  they  were?" 

"An  aunbile !" 

"An  elphunt !" 

"A  typewriter!" 

"Yes,  that's  quite  right.  And  it  happened  that 
the  chipmunk  was  out  that  night,  digging  up  some 
nuts  for  his  Christmas  dinner,  a  little  sad  because 
he  had  no  presents  to  give  his  children;  and  he 
found  the  three  toys.  He  took  them  home  to  the 
little  chipmunks,  and  they  were  tremendously 
pleased.  That  was  only  fair,  because  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  chipmunk  and  his  radio  set,  no  one 
would  have  had  any  toys  that  Christmas." 

"Did  Santa  Claus  have  any  more  typewriters 
in  his  bag?"  asked  Yelpers  gravely. 

"Oh,  yes,  he  had  plenty  more  of  everything. 
And  when  he  got  to  the  hotfse  where  Groups  and 
Bunks  and  Yelpers  lived,  he  slid  down  the  chimney 
and  took  a  look  round.  He  didn't  see  any  crumbs 
on  the  floor,  or  any  toys  lying  about  not  put 
away,  so  he  filled  the  stockings  with  all  kinds  of 
lovely  things,  and  an  aunbile  and  an  elphunt  and 
a  typewriter." 

"What  did  the  puppies  say?"  they  inquired. 


214       WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS 

"They  were  sound  asleep  upstairs,  and  didn't 
know  anything  about  it  until  Christmas  morning. 
Come  on  now,  it's  time  for  bed." 

"We  can  undress  ourselves  now,"  said  Groups. 

"Will  you  tuck  me  in:"'  said  Bunks. 

"You're  sure  he  had  another  typewriter  in  his 
bag?"  said  Yelpers. 

They  scrambled  upstairs. 

Later,  when  the  house  was  quiet,  Gissing  went 
out  to  the  kitchen  to  see  Mrs.  Spaniel.  She  was 
diligently  rolling  pastry,  and  her  nose  was  white 
with  flour. 

"Oh,  sir,  I'm  glad  you  got  home  in  time  for 
Christmas,"  she  said.  "The  children  were  count 
ing  on  it.  Did  you  have  a  successful  trip,  sir?" 

"Every  trip  is  successful  when  you  get  home 
again,"  said  Gissing.  "I  suppose  the  shops  will 
be  open  late  to-night,  won't  they?  I'm  going  to 
run  down  to  the  village  to  get  some  toys." 

Before  leaving  the  house,  he  went  down  to  the 
cellar  to  see  if  the  furnace  was  all  right.  He  was 
amazed  to  see  how  naturally  and  cheerfully  he 
had  slipped  back  into  the  old  sense  of  responsi 
bility.  Where  was  the  illusory  freedom  he  had 
dreamed  of?  Even  the  epiphany  on  the  hilltop 


WHERE  THE  BLUE  BEGINS       215 

now  seemed  a  distant  miracle.  That  fearful 
happiness  might  never  come  again.  And  yet 
here,  among  the  familiar  difficult  minutiae  of  home, 
what  a  lightness  he  felt.  A  great  phrase  from 
the  prayer-book  came  to  his  mind — "Whose 
service  is  perfect  freedom." 

Ah,  he  said  to  himself,  it  is  all  very  well  to 
wear  a  crown  of  thorns,  and  indeed  every  sensitive 
creature  carries  one  in  secret.  But  there  are 
times  when  it  ought  to  be  worn  cocked  over  one 
ear. 

He  opened  the  furnace  door.  A  bright  glow 
filled  the  fire-box :  he  could  hear  a  stir  and  singing 
in  the  boiler,  and  the  rustle  of  warm  pipes  that 
chuckled  quietly  through  winter  nights  of  storm. 
Over  the  coals  hovered  a  magic  evasive  flicker, 
the  very  soul  of  fire.  It  was  a  pentecostal  flame, 
perfect  and  heavenly  in  tint,  the  essence  of  pure 
colour,  a  clear  immortal  blue. 


THE  END 


TTTT 


T  T- 


>T 


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STAMPED  BELOW 


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APR  181943 

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DEC  21  1943 

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FEB    11  1944 

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